


Don't Fk with Fate, Prophet

by verfound



Category: Dead Like Me, Eli Stone (TV)
Genre: Crossover, F/M, Mason/Daisy UST, Out of Town Reap
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-05
Updated: 2016-09-15
Packaged: 2018-08-13 05:52:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 43,533
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7964956
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/verfound/pseuds/verfound
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rube had warned them about interfering with fate, but what if it's not a reaper interfering?  What if it's a prophet?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Don't Fear the Reaper

**Author's Note:**

> Eli Stone x Dead Like Me crossover. A few months post-02x13 for Eli Stone; four years post-02x14 for Dead Like Me (shortly before the movie). Spoiler-free as long as you’re current. Rated for language (nothing beyond the norm for DLM, but heads up for the Stoners). Also, I’m kind of proud that I’m finally posting this? Like I wrote it pre-Libs, guys. So this shit is OLD. But I found it festering in a folder, and it really only had a few more edits to go, and I was kinda like “…why didn’t I ever post this?” So hey, guys! New fic from Ver!

Der Waffle Haus was unusually empty that morning.  Apart from two or three scattered patrons and one family towards the back, the biggest crowd could be found at one of the center booths near the counter.  Two blondes, one slouched so low she was nearly reclining and the other checking her face in a little compact, sat with a cop and a lanky man one would've sworn had just crawled out of a gutter somewhere.  Chances were he probably had.  The cop, the man, and the blonde with the compact occupied one side of the booth; the other girl sat alone across from them, yet she was close enough to the edge that she could easily move if – when – another would join their party.  Her eyes were focused on the man, her lips curled back in a disgusted grimace as she watched him arguing with the cop.  His mouth was full of mashed-up, half-eaten pancakes, and when it opened again to shoot another smartassed comment towards the cop, she'd had enough.

 

“I think I'm gonna be sick,” she said as their waitress came over.  The older woman frowned and laid a hand on her shoulder.

 

“You ok, honey?” she asked, and the girl shook her head.

 

“Mason's being gross, Kiffany,” she said, looking away as the man turned to face her, mid-comment and slack-jawed.  Her stomach churned as she caught a fresh glimpse of mashed-up food, and the waitress gave him a patronizing look.

 

“Wha’?” Mason asked around the food, and Kiffany's look turned to one of annoyance.

 

“Mason, chew with your mouth closed,” she said.  The exchange seemed natural, as if she was always having to remind him of such basic civilities.  She looked around the table, frowning when she noticed it was just the four of them.  “Rube not here yet?”

 

“Not yet, but he better get here soon.  I'm gonna be late for work, and I haven't eaten yet,” the cop said, taking a sip from her coffee before shooting another annoyed look at Mason.  He swallowed and took another stab of his breakfast, raising the fork to wiggle the food in her face.  “And you better get that damn shit outta my face before I stab you with that goddamn fork!”

 

“Can I get you anything, Roxy?  Daisy, George?” Kiffany asked, glancing at the two blondes as well, and Roxy sighed as she looked away from Mason.  Daisy, the blonde next to Mason, shook her head.

 

“I've lost my appetite,” she said as George nodded in agreement.  He giggled, and George wondered if he was on anything.  It wouldn't surprise her, even if it was...she glanced at her watch.  7:28 A.M.  With Mason, you could never be sure.  His devouring of the pancakes could just as easily be a case of the munchies as it was simple morning breakfast hunger.

 

“You should've ordered when I did, you should've,” he said, swinging his fork around to eat the bite of pancakes.  “All this bullshit about waiting for Rubie, now you're gonna starve.  You should've –”

 

“Say that one more time and I will shoot you,” Roxy said, a hand reaching to her holster and gripping her gun.  George smiled, her internal monologue reciting its mental chime of _Mason, Mason, Mason_.

 

“I wouldn't mind seeing that,” Daisy said, and George quirked a brow at her.  It was one of the only things she'd said that morning; she wasn't usually so quiet.  “Please, Mason, be a dear and say it again.”

 

“Fuck you, Daisy,” he snapped, and the other three women gave him wide-eyed stares as Daisy's jaw dropped.  Mason _never_ talked to Daisy like that, as a general rule.  He flirted, he practically drooled, but he never talked...like that.  He talked to Roxy like that.  He talked to George like that.  He didn't talk to Kiffany like that, but that was only because he feared being evicted from Der Waffle Haus (again).  He might occasionally talk to Rube like that, but – as a general rule – he didn't give two shits what Rube thought, so it didn't really matter.  Just...not Daisy.  Never Daisy.

 

“I'll...just come back,” Kiffany said, tapping her pencil against the order pad before walking to another table.  George kicked at Mason under the table, and he cursed as he shook his leg.

 

“Christ, Georgie!  What the fuck was that for?!” he asked, and she quirked a brow as she nodded at Daisy.  Before he could question her further, an older man in a slicker carrying a newspaper and an old, leather-bound day planner walked up to their table.  Chatter stopped as the four turned to face the man, expectant looks on each of their faces.

 

“Don't let me interrupt,” he said, leaning against divider between the booths.  Mason grinned, taking the offer at face value and shoveling the last of his pancakes into his mouth.  Roxy slapped the back of his head, causing him to choke on his food.  He gripped at his scalp as he coughed and spluttered, cursing her as more mashed-up food fell onto his plate.  George's stomach turned again, and she quickly turned her attention to the latest addition to their group (in an effort to not lose the current – minimal – contents of her stomach).

 

“Where the fuck have you been, Rube?” she asked, and she gagged as Mason – after promptly cussing Roxy out for her slap – scooped the pancake mush up with his fork and popped it back in his mouth.  “Oh, gross, Mason!”

 

“Five second rule,” Mason said once he'd gulped the food mush down.  Well, at least he had the decency to swallow this time...

 

“Early morning reap, Peanut,” Rube said, looking at George.  He slipped the rubber band holding his planner together off and flipped the book open.  He pushed himself off the divider and slapped a yellow post-it each in front of Daisy and Roxy.  Roxy picked up the slip of paper and scowled, nudging the two beside her to get them to move.

 

“Thanks a lot, Rube – this reap's in ten minutes!” she said as she slid out of the booth.  “Show up late and give me a ten-minute heads up on my reap, no fucking time for breakfast...un-fucking-believable...”

 

“Have a good one, Roxy,” Rube called.  Daisy's eyes widened as she read her own post-it.

 

“Shoot!  Rube, this is downtown in half an hour!  Roxy, wait up – I need a ride!” the blonde called as she turned on her heel and ran after the cop.  Mason frowned as he looked up at Rube.

 

“Not that I'm complaining, Rubie, but where's ours?  You don't usually leave us reapless,” he said.  Rube smirked and slapped two more post-its down, one in front of each of them.  Mason groaned, any hopes of a day off immediately dashed, as he picked up his post-it.  George frowned as she read hers over.

 

“San Francisco?  What the hell, Rube?” she asked, and Mason nodded.

 

“And a day in advance, too.  What gives?” he asked.  Rube snapped the planner closed and returned the rubber band to its proper place before tucking it back under his arm with his paper.  He turned towards the counter and asked Kiffany for a coffee to go, and once she had nodded he turned back to them and nodded towards their post-its.

 

“The EI division in San Francisco is having some clerical issues with some of their reapers.  Apparently two filled their quotas, but there were no replacements to step in for 'em,” Rube stopped as George and Mason's jaws dropped.

 

“What the fuck?!” George cried, her eyes nearly bugging out of her skull.

 

“But there's always a replacement – those're the fucking rules!  Your last soul takes your place, it does – s'what happened to all the sods who reaped us, and all the others, and how it'll work for us!” Mason said, shaking his head in disbelief.  Rube shrugged.

 

“It's not so much that there _aren't_ replacements – it's more along the lines of Kalla not being able to find them,” Rube said.  Mason and George blinked at him, and then Mason snorted and fell over in his seat, laughter shaking his entire body.

 

“They...they...they fucking _lost_ their souls?  Oh, that's priceless!  That is fucking _priceless_!” he said between laughs, and – despite Rube's murderous look – George couldn't help the smile that curved her lips.  “And you call _me_ a fuck-up, Rubie!  Least I've never _lost_ anyone!”

 

“He's got you there,” George said, her lips twitching as her smile grew.  Rube sighed and looked skywards, and if George hadn't known that Rube didn't necessarily believe in God she would have sworn he was praying for strength.  (Or whatever those religious types pray for to deal with what they considered 'difficult' people like her and Mason. A constipator, he used to call her.)

 

“To the point, if you two chuckleheads don't mind.  Their head, Kalla, is a friend of mine, and she asked if I had any reapers to spare for a day.  Talked to upper management, they told me we'd have a slow couple of days ahead of us, and I offered you two up,” Rube explained.  The grin on her face vanished as George opened her mouth to protest, and he held up a hand.  “I already spoke to Delores, Peanut – you're cleared from work for the next few days.  Our AA group is having a three-day retreat, and as it's running into the weekend you aren't expected back until Monday.”

 

“That's bollocks, that is,” Mason said as he sat up.  He sniffed and put his post-it back on the table.  George was debating whether she should be pissed about the out-of-town reap or grateful Rube had just gotten her the rest of the week off.  “Us being an AA group – _me_ being in a sodding AA group.  That's just...”

 

“Bollocks?” George asked, smirking slightly as she looked at him.  He nodded vehemently, and she rolled her eyes.  “Yeah, well, it's what works with Delores, so I'm not gonna bag the excuse just yet.  So, San Francisco?”

 

“If you leave now you should make it in plenty of time, Peanut.  It's a thirteen-hour drive,” Rube said, and George gave him a wide-eyed look.

 

“What the fuck, Rube?!  And you expect us there before noon tomorrow?!” she cried, bolting up in her seat.  He smiled genially at her.

 

“It's not even eight yet, Peanut.  That gives you plenty of time to get there before your reaps, but to be safe I'd suggest you get your breakfast to go and start now,” he said, and she groaned as she grabbed her post-it, shoved it in her pocket, and stood.  She wanted to smack that smile right off his face.

 

“Shit,” she mumbled, grabbing the back of Mason's jacket and dragging him out of Der Waffle Haus behind her.  She ignored his yelps of protest (and the fact that he hadn't paid for his breakfast – let Rube cover it, the asshole) and Rube's wave of good luck as she pushed the door open.  Upon reaching her red Mustang she released Mason, causing him to stumble into the door and causing her to wonder just how high he was that he couldn't even walk straight (never mind that she hadn't really given him a proper chance to recover from the dragging).  Without a second look towards their boss or a thought to whether or not Mason had his seatbelt on (like a car crash could kill him – ha), she pealed out of the parking lot and headed back towards the house she shared with Daisy and Mason.  A quick stop for an overnight bag, a stop by a gas station for a full tank and a map (and a breakfast of Doritos and Mountain Dew), and then they were on their way to San Francisco.

 

She had an appointment with M. Dekker just before noon tomorrow, and she knew from experience it wouldn't do Dekker any good if she was late.

 

– V –

 

The sound of running water cut off abruptly, leaving the empty bedroom silent save for the shuffling noises coming from the en suite.  Sunlight filtered in through gauzy curtains over the glass doors that led to the balcony, casting a yellowed, morning glow on the room.  Eli Stone walked through the open door of the bathroom, a towel secured about his waist and a smaller one in his hands, rubbing through his short, dark hair.  He yawned as he made his way to the dresser on the opposite side of the room.  He tossed the smaller towel towards the bed, shaking his head as he opened the top drawer and began rooting through it for some clean underwear.  He froze as a haunting, mellowed tune started, a few strums of an old guitar followed by soft drums.  He lifted his head, eyes calculating, as he registered the song.

 

Aneurysm Time-Out.

 

He closed his eyes, took a deep breath to steady himself, and turned.  When his eyes opened, he found himself on a bustling San Franciscan sidewalk.  He knew this street and the building before him: it belonged to his law firm, Wethersby, Stone & Associates.  His gaze dropped from the higher windows, where he knew their offices were, to fall on the woman walking towards him: Maggie Dekker, one of their best associates and his girlfriend.  A brilliant smile was on her face as she twirled, and in a blink she was in his arms.

 

“All our times have come.  Here, but now there, gone,” she sang, and she twirled away from him to start dancing with the people on the sidewalk behind her.

 

“Seasons don’t fear the reaper – nor do the wind, the sun, or the rain,” the people sang, and he watched as a man lifted Maggie, hoisting her a step before putting her down to continue the dance.  “We can be like they are.”

 

“Come on, baby,” Maggie sang as the group behind her told him to not fear the reaper.  There was a sinking feeling in his gut, a niggling in his mind that made him look past her then.  Two people, a blonde girl and a scruffy-looking man with tousled brown hair, walked behind her.  They were completely ordinary, completely inconsequential, but…something was _off_ about them.  They weren’t singing.  They weren’t dancing.  They were…watching him.  _Glaring_ at him.  The girl’s eyes locked with his, and a chill raced down his spine as he watched her glance at something in her hand – a…post-it?  A simple yellow post-it with ‘M. Dekker’, the address to the WSA building, the next day’s date, and ‘E.T.D. 11:42 A.M.’ written on it.  She looked up as the people around them continued to sing and dance, and he watched, bewildered, as her arm lifted and her hand brushed against Maggie’s shoulder.  There was a strange glow, another something he didn’t understand, that followed the girl’s hand off Maggie and back to her side.  They walked on, and he felt like a rock had dropped in his stomach.  He didn’t know what that girl had done, but something told him it wasn’t good.

 

He jumped as Maggie grabbed his hands again, spinning them ‘round and once more releasing him as she walked backwards towards the street.  The music built around him, growing in an almost painful crescendo of voices as people all around him shouted out: “Don’t fear the reaper!”

 

“Baby, take my ha-” and just like that, just like Maggie’s voice, his world stopped.  He watched, shocked still and horrified, as a cab crashed into her.  He watched as her body flipped over the hood and onto the street, where another car eagerly raced over her.  A scream gurgled out of his throat, jarring him from the vision as he collapsed to his knees, shaking.  He barely registered the fact that he was back in his bedroom, barely registered the sudden deafening silence he found himself in.  He didn’t hear the ragged breaths he was gasping in or register the violent fit of shaking his body had fallen victim to.

 

All he saw was Maggie, flipped over the cab hood and shattered under the wheels of another car.  Lying there in the street, bloody and broken with no chance of being alive.  His Maggie, dead.  _His Maggie._

 

Slowly, the world started to come back to him.  He recognized his room, realized the accident hadn’t happened – _yet_.  His gut twisted at that thought, the knowledge that he’d just had a vision of _his Maggie dying_ finally sinking in.  He shook his head fervently, unwilling to believe it, but…his mind, unable to cope, latched onto the easiest thought running through it at the moment: he was on his knees, literally floored for the first time in who knew how long by a vision.  He wanted to say he was better at handling them by now – but, given what he had just seen…his stomach lurched as he again saw Maggie’s battered body in his mind, and he wondered if he would retch right there.

 

As he knelt there, trying to control his body and the turbulent thoughts racing through his mind, he became aware of an annoying ringing in the background.  It took him a minute to recognize the phone, and once his mind had that distraction to grasp on to it was easier to push himself to his feet and stumble over to the bedside, just in time to scoop up the phone before its last ring.  His eyes landed on a framed photo by the charger, a picture taken about a month ago of Maggie and him from a weekend trip with his brother and his brother’s fiancée, and he took a deep, steadying breath.  He clung to that photo, to the knowledge that Maggie was fine and safe and _alive_ , and shoved his vision out of his mind.  He pressed the talk button, taking another breath before speaking.

 

“Eli Stone,” he said, his voice just as shaky as his body.

 

“Hey, Eli!” Maggie’s voice, too bright for this early in the morning (even if it was later where she was), greeted him.  He felt a sense of calm wash over him, and he relished the sound of her.  If she was talking to him, she was alive.  She was fine.  “Are you ok?  You sound weird.”

 

“I’m fine,” he said quickly.  The last thing he wanted was for her to…  “What’s up, Maggie?”

 

“Well, I just wanted to say good morning before I had to get on the plane.  We’re about to board now – I should be back around noon tomorrow,” she said.  His mind took him back to the street outside their offices, to that post-it in that strange blonde’s hand: tomorrow, 11:42 A.M.  He sucked in a breath as she continued.  “So, I was thinking…if I get back in time, I can swing by the office and we can grab some lunch.  What do you think?  Sound like a –”

 

“NO!” he screamed, the sound coming out strangled as he again saw her mangled body lying in the middle of that street.  No, no, no, no, no….  He doubled over, panting as he roughly shoved a hand through his hair.  This couldn’t be happening.  This couldn’t be…not after everything they’d been through to get here.  Not after all that.  It wasn’t fair!  It wasn’t…he heard her breathing on the other end, silent after his outburst, and latched onto that.  She was alive, she was alive, she was alive…

 

“Eli…are you sure you’re ok?  Did something happen?” she finally asked, and he closed his eyes.  Should he tell her?  No, no…that wouldn’t do any good.  But…

 

An idea started to form in his mind, nothing more than a desperate attempt at grasping at straws, but it was the best he had to go on.  He had to try.

 

“Take a later flight,” he said quickly – maybe too quickly, but he didn’t care.  He couldn’t let Maggie get on that plane.  He couldn’t let her be anywhere near the WSA offices at noon tomorrow.  “You have to switch your flights, Maggie.  Take a later one.”

 

“Eli, what’s going on?  Did you…did you see something?” she asked, and he cursed himself for the note of panic he could hear creeping into her voice.  He didn’t want her worried.  If she just changed her flight, she’d be fine…  “Eli?  What did you see?”

 

“Please, Maggie, just switch your flight,” he begged, rubbing his eyes as he tried to banish the flashes from his earlier vision.  “You can’t be here tomorrow at noon.  You can’t.”

 

“Why, Eli?  Please, tell me what you saw,” she asked, her voice almost as desperate as his.  He shook his head, even though he knew she couldn’t see the gesture.

 

“Just trust me, Maggie,” he said, and she grew silent at that.  He knew he had her there.  If nothing else, she believed in him and his visions.  She trusted him, and if he had any reason to think she shouldn’t come home yet…even if he was unwilling to tell her, she’d listen.  She was his God-given solace that way.

 

“Fine,” she said after a long minute.  “I’ll call you when I have it all sorted.”

 

“Thank you,” he said, releasing the breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding.  He heard her sigh.

 

“You’re not gonna tell me what this is all about, are you?” she asked, and he smiled weakly at that.

 

“Later,” he said, only half meaning it.  He would – if it didn’t happen.  Maybe.  No need to worry her more than usual.  “I love you.”

 

“I love you, too, Eli,” she said, and he could hear the smile in her voice.  He was grateful for it.  She said she had to go, and they exchanged goodbyes before he heard her hang up.  He clicked the phone off and groaned, slouching forward again.  This couldn’t be happening…this couldn’t be…he threw the phone across the room, his face twisting in a snarl as it bounced off the wall and skidded across the floor.

 

“What the hell?!” he screamed, jerking his face towards the ceiling and glaring for all he was worth at God.  His mind lurched, and as suddenly as the anger had come it was washed away by a crushing sense of hopelessness.  He fell back on the bed, dragging his hands down along his face as a broken sob shook him.  “Not Maggie…”

 

– V –

 

George’s head fell back against the headrest as a breath blew past her lips.  She glanced towards the building she was parked in front of, a rest area just off US-199, and wondered just how long Mason was going to take in there.  She found it ridiculous that she could use the bathroom faster than he could – but that thought only made her wonder exactly _what_ he was doing in there, and that thought brought a scowl to her lips.

 

‘I swear to God, if he’s in there popping or snorting something…’ her thoughts trailed off into a murderous cloud; the last thing she wanted was to put up with this forced road trip while Mason wasn’t in his right mind.  Granted, he was rarely ever in his right mind, but she didn’t want to worry about babysitting him while she was trying to focus on driving – and she needed him coherent enough to at least read a map.  Her eyes narrowed on him when he finally emerged from the building, an easy smile on his face.  He tugged his fingerless gloves back onto his hands as he trotted over to the car, hopping over the door instead of opening it when he reached her.  She cocked a brow at him as he buckled his seatbelt.  He didn’t look any worse for wear, but Mason was nothing if not a functioning addict.

 

“Took you long enough,” she said by way of greeting.  He turned towards her, the smile slipping into a frown.

 

“There was a line,” he said.  He paused, giving her a quizzical look.  “…what did you think?”

 

“Nothing,” she said, shrugging slightly as she pulled out and drove away from the rest stop.  Once they were back on the highway, she glanced over at him.  “How much longer are we on this road?”

 

“The 199?  According to this map and the directions from that bloke back home, a while.  We follow it straight into California,” he said, pulling the map out from where he had stashed it beside his seat.  She drove on, an easy silence falling between them as the forest flew by.  After a while, she glanced over to find him leaning back in his seat, staring out at the passing scenery.  She looked back to the road, her mind traveling back to that morning in Der Waffle Haus – more specifically, to Mason’s uncharacteristic snapping at Daisy.  She glanced back to him, kicking the question around in her mind, before she decided hesitating was bullshit.  She had never been the type to dance around things.

 

“So what the hell was up with you and Daisy this morning?” she asked, glancing at him again.  He didn’t turn from the passing trees, and she watched as a smile split his face when they crossed onto a bridge, a river rolling lazily in the gulch beneath them.

 

“Will give him this, though,” he said after a minute, once the bridge was behind them and they were back in dense forest, “Rube sure picked a hell of a day for a road trip, didn’t he, Georgie?  It’s bloody gorgeous out, it is.”

 

“You’re avoiding the question,” she said, but she still smiled at his observation – and the dopey grin on his own face.  That grin vanished quickly, though, at her prodding.  He looked back to the passing forest and sighed.

 

“Nothing was up,” he said.  He shifted in the seat, a nervous movement as he avoided looking at her.

 

“Bullshit – something was definitely up.  You said ‘fuck you’ to her – you never talk like that to her,” she said.  He grew quiet, his frown turning into a scowl, and she rolled her eyes.  _Men._   “You’re her lap dog, Mason.  You’re the idiot that follows her around like a puppy, just hoping she might show you some small bit of attention.  You don’t tell her to fuck off – you care about her too much.”

 

“But that’s just it, innit?” he asked, finally turning to face her.  He leaned back in his seat and gave her a sad sort of smile, and she knew her words must’ve cut him.  A part of her missed the days where she could easily say she didn’t care, but she’d known Mason for around four years now, and in that time she’d gotten close.  That closeness kept her from keeping her usual ‘Screw the World!’ attitude towards him.  “Even addicts get tired, Georgie.”

 

Well, what the hell was _that_ supposed to mean?

 

“Never thought I’d hear you say that,” she said instead, figuring he’d elaborate if he wanted to.  She doubted he would; he rarely did.  He shrugged, ducking his head and glancing back to the forest rising out of the sloping dirt walls.

 

“Never thought I would, either, but that don’t mean it’s not true.  I’m tired of her, George, of how she’s…I’m just so sick and tired of her,” he sighed.  She didn’t believe him for a second, but it was obvious that was all she was going to get from him – at least for now.  She nodded, letting the subject drop, and turned back to the road.  He glanced at her, studying her for a moment while she wasn’t paying him any attention, and a soft smile curled his lips.  (He’d never tell her, but he’d rather be driving down the open road with her than putting up with Daisy’s bullshit any day – she was his favorite, she was.)  He bounced in his seat a bit, squirming around as he tried to get comfortable.

 

“All right, ‘nough of that!  Let’s play a game, Georgie!  I Spy!  Let’s see…hmm…I spy with my little Brit eye…something green!” he said, grinning at her as he waggled his brows.  She snorted, a laugh spilling from her as she shook her head.

 

“A tree?” she asked, even while her mind chimed, ‘Mason, Mason, Mason…’

 

“Aw, no fair!  Ok, I’ve got a real good one this time!  I spy with my little Brit eye –” he started, and she laughed again.

 

“It’s just ‘my little eye’, Mason,” she said, and he snorted indignantly.

 

“Well, I don’t want to say that!  I’ve got a little Brit eye, sos I’m gonna say ‘my little Brit eye’!  Now, I spy _with my little Brit eye…_ something brown!” he said.

 

“A tree?” she asked, giving him an amused look, and he crossed his arms over his chest as he slouched back in his seat.

 

“You’re too good at this,” he grumbled, and she rolled her eyes.

 

“We’re in a forest, Mason.  Not much besides trees to spy,” she said.  She nodded towards the dash.  “Why don’t you just turn the radio on and shut up?”

 

He reached down, fiddling with the dials until a station finally came through.  His face lit up like it was Christmas (or like he’d just found a choice prescription on the corpse of his latest reap) as the chords of an old rock song played out.  She didn’t recognize it, but she wasn’t surprised he did.  He fell back in his seat, laughing as the group started singing again – and when they got to the chorus, she had to laugh with him.

 

“Baby, take my hand – don’t fear the reaper!  We’ll be able to fly – don’t fear the reaper!” Mason sang, and she laughed even more as he leaned over and nudged her with his elbow, making suggestive faces at her.  “Baby, I’m your man!”

 

“God, Mason, you cannot sing!” she laughed, and the grin slipped off his face to be replaced by a look of hurt.  Sometimes she was still surprised by how quickly his face could change, but it was just another something that made him so _Mason_.

 

“Oi!  I can, too!” he said, straightening up in his seat, and she shook her head.

 

“No, you really can’t,” she said, and as the group resumed the song he sang all the louder, as if to prove her wrong.  She laughed harder, doubling over against the wheel as he continued to belt out the old rock song.  As they continued along the winding highway towards their destination, she got the feeling that it was going to be a long thirteen hours.

 

– V –

 

Patti Dellacroix kept her gaze focused on the empty library – _office_ – in front of her desk.  Her eyes were narrowed, lips turned down in a scowl, as she studiously watched her boss’s empty office.  Empty, when he had a meeting in _half an hour_ – just where in the world was that man?  She glanced towards the elevators, then looked at the calendar on her desk.  His first meeting of the morning was slotted to begin in half an hour, and he still hadn’t showed his face in the WSA offices.  He hadn’t been in for the morning staff meeting, he hadn’t been in to prep for his upcoming meeting…she was going to kill him.  She wasn’t his mother – she didn’t have to pick up his slack.  And yet here she was, undoubtedly on that same old course, because Eli Stone couldn’t bring himself to show up _on time_ to…

 

The phone rang, cutting her thoughts off mid-murder.  She snatched it from its cradle and pressed it to her ear.

 

“Wethersby, Stone & Associates – Eli Stone’s office,” she said, trying to keep the venom from her thoughts out of her voice.

 

“Patti!” she jumped at the shout, dropping the phone in her shock.  She heard a string of words coming from the earpiece – that boy was talking way too loud for a phone conversation! – but she wasn’t able to catch any of them.  She picked the phone back up and sighed, shaking her head as she mentally counted back from ten.

 

“Eli, where in the world are you?  You are late!  You missed the staff meeting, and if you don’t get in here soon you’re gonna miss –” she started, but his rushed words cut her off again.

 

“I’m not coming in yet – I have to see Frank,” he said, and she frowned.

 

“Who?” she asked.

 

“Dr. Chen, Patti!” he said, sounding as exasperated as she felt.  Well, he didn’t have to take that tone with her – _she_ was doing her job, thank you very much!  “Look, I need you to tell Jordan I’m going to be late.”

 

“Eli, you have a meeting in half an hour – how much later are you gonna be?” she asked, glancing up to see her other boss – Jordan Wethersby – talking with his son-in-law by the stairs.  They were sending her concerned looks, and she groaned.  This was not her morning…

 

“Can you reschedule that for me?  Look, Patti, it’s important – I have to see Frank,” he said, and her ire slipped from her at something in his voice.  It was something she’d heard many times before, always when…

 

“Eli, what’s going on?” she asked, trying to keep the ire from resurfacing as fear.  He was silent, something that didn’t help matters.  She closed her eyes, taking a deep breath that did nothing to calm her nerves.  “What did you see, Eli?”

 

“Why does everyone always assume I saw something?  Maybe I just need some acupuncture – maybe I’m –” he started, and her gaze hardened as she glared at the phone.

 

“Eli Stone, don’t you dare take that tone with me!  You know I know when you make these sudden ‘I have to go see Dr. Chen’ decisions it’s always because you saw something – do not take me for an idiot, Eli.  Now what did you see?” she asked, but her question was again greeted with silence.

 

“…I don’t want to talk about it, Patti,” he said after a long moment, his voice sounding so lost and scared that the creeping sense of terror began to rise again.

 

“Was it bad?” she asked, and when he didn’t answer she swallowed thickly.  “How bad, Eli?”  More silence.  “Was it…was it earthquake-bad, Eli?”

 

“Not how you’d think,” he finally said, and her hand gripped the edge of her desk, “but…yeah, it was bad.”

 

“What did you see, Eli?” she asked again.  She was focusing so intently on the conversation – and whatever he’d say next – that she didn’t notice when Jordan and Matt crossed the office floor to stop in front of her desk.  She continued to stare blindly before her, not really seeing anything.  She didn’t even notice the worried looks the two men were giving her.  “Eli?”

 

“I’ll tell you later – I promise.  But…I gotta go,  Patti,” he said, and she pushed out an exasperated sigh.

 

“Eli, don’t you dare –” she started, but he cut her off again.

 

“Later, Patti!” he said in a rush, and then the phone clicked off and the dial tone buzzed in her ear.  She humphed and slammed the phone down, pulling up the rolodex on her computer to find the contact information she’d need to reschedule his nine-fifty.

 

“What was that about?  Stone go crazy again?”

 

She jumped and looked up, finally noticing the lawyers standing before her.  She glared at Matt, the one who had spoken.

 

“Is everything all right, Patti?” Jordan asked, and she gave him her best Pissed Off Assistant Look.

 

“You’ll know when I do, but Eli’s having a psychic moment and won’t be in until later,” she snapped, and Jordan’s eyebrows soared.  His mouth opened, probably to ask just what she meant by that, but she was already on the phone again.

 

“Hi, this is Patti Delacroix from Wethersby, Stone & Associates.  I’m calling for Cynthia Gladstone?  Hi, Cynthia!  Listen, we need to reschedule your appointment…”

 

– V –

 

In Chinatown, Dr. Frank Lebakowski – Dr. Chen to his non-prophet patients – was busy seeing a middle-aged woman out of his office.  He smiled as he spoke with her, his voice draped with his phony accent as he gave her a series of simple instructions.  She nodded and thanked him, turning towards the door to leave when it was thrown open and a harried-looking Eli Stone walked into his office.  He wrote off his friend’s appearance with the easy air of Dr. Chen, his smile widening as he looked at the woman and nodded at Eli.

 

“Ol’ pay-shunn – ne’r make a-pointmehnt,” he said, shaking his head as the woman laughed uneasily.  She gave Eli a nervous look before nodding her acknowledgment of him.  She was out the door before Eli could return the gesture.  He looked back to Frank, arching a brow at him, and Dr. Chen’s blithe smile stayed on.  “Mr. Stone, will you e’er make a-pointmehnt?”

 

Eli watched him for a minute, giving him that look he’d long ago associated with particularly nasty visions, and Dr. Chen’s smile started to slip as Frank’s worry came through.

 

“I think I have an excuse when God’s just told me my girlfriend’s slotted to die at noon tomorrow,” Eli said, and the smile was smacked from Frank’s face as his eyes widened and mouth gaped.

 

“What?” he asked, the accent dropped as easily as his jaw.  Eli shuffled his feet slightly, looking to the ground as his brow furrowed.  He looked up, face suddenly desperate, and nodded towards the back.

 

“Do you got a minute?” he asked, and Frank nodded.

 

“Just let me get the ‘out’ sign up,” he said, moving past Eli to the door.  Not much later they were back in the ‘Needle Room’, as Eli had long ago dubbed it.  Eli sat hunched over on the examination table, staring miserably at his hands as he nervously wrung them.  Frank said nothing, knowing Eli would tell him when he was ready.  Still, that didn’t keep him from being anxious.  Eli was family, and Maggie…well, she practically was.  He’d enjoyed getting to know her over the past few months she’d been dating Eli (and he looked forward to one day meeting that baby Eli had foreseen so long ago).  That he’d had a vision where she _died…_ Frank was fearful of the implications.

 

He was about to ask just what he had seen, prompting him out of his silence, when Eli began talking.

 

“I was getting ready for work, and then I heard it.  Blue Öyster Cult – ‘Don’t Fear The Reaper’.  I turned around, and I was outside work.  Maggie was singing, and the next thing I knew she was walking into the street, and…there was a cab.  It hit her, and…another…” he stopped, dragging his hands over his face as he pushed out a breath.  Frank’s gut twisted for his friends.  The idea that something – anything – bad could happen to Maggie…

 

“This just isn't happening,” Eli said, shaking his head.  He tipped his neck back, glaring at the ceiling.  Frank wondered if that was all he was glaring at.  “Maggie can't...not her.  _Not her._   Not after everything...there has to be a reason I saw that.  I'm supposed to save her, right?  That has to be it.  I saw her dying so I could stop it, so I could –”

 

“Woah, Eli, hold up,” he said, looking at Eli like...well, like his friend was about to do something monumentally stupid.  He loved the guy, but it wouldn't be the first time.  “Just...let me think.”

 

“About what, Frank?  Why else would I see that?  I'm supposed to save her – I have to!” Eli said, and Frank took a deep breath.  He couldn't believe he was about to say this, but...someone had to point it out.  Eli was too close to the subject – hell, _he_ was too close to the subject – to be objective, but someone had to think about the bad side.  And from what Eli had told him...

 

“Eli, what if...from the song, from what you've told me, it doesn't sound like you're supposed to,” he said.  Eli's head snapped down, a wide-eyed look of disbelief coloring his features.  Frank held up his hands in defense.  “Don't get me wrong: I don't want anything bad to happen to Maggie.  But think about the song: _don't fear the reaper_.  What if God's telling you this is going to happen, but it will all be ok in the end?”

 

“Ok?  _Ok?_   Frank, listen to yourself!  How will it be ok if Maggie's _dead?!_ ” Eli asked.  He didn't have an answer to that.  He looked down, his mind running through every possible meaning, every possible outcome – anything he could tell Eli to make this better.  He doubted there was anything that would – anything short of 'Maggie will be fine; you just had a nightmare', at least.  When he looked up, Eli was sitting there, eyes scrunched closed as he forced himself to breathe evenly.  For once, he had nothing to say to him.  He didn't know what to do.

 

“Have you told her yet?” he finally asked.  Eli didn't open his eyes.  He just shook his head, a quick jerk to the side as he continued breathing.

 

“She called just after the vision.  She was about to board her plane, and I told her to switch flights,” he said, and Frank's brow furrowed in concern.

 

“Eli, you shouldn't try to change your visions,” he said, and Eli's eyes snapped open to glare at him.

 

“What would you have me do, Frank?!  It's Maggie – do you really expect me to let her die?!” he asked, and Frank sighed as he shook his head.

 

“I know, Eli, but you've gone against the visions before, remember?  Nothing good comes from it,” he pointed out, but Eli just scowled at him.

 

“Do you want her to die?!” he snapped, and Frank's mouth slipped open again as his words struck him.

 

“No, of course not!  Eli, you know I care about Maggie, but you have to at least consider it.  What if you can't stop this?  What if you're not supposed to?” he asked.  He took a step back as Eli hopped down from the table, a murderous look darkening his face.

 

“I won't let her die,” he spat, and Frank watched helplessly as he pushed his way past him.  A moment later he heard the front door slam shut, the jars on the shelves behind the counter rattling from the disturbance.  He sighed and looked down, rubbing his hands over his eyes as his mind raced to catch up with everything that had just happened.  Unbidden, his mind traveled back to Aaron's journal, to the decided lack of Maggie's death found in its contents.  He remembered Aaron discussing the lawyer Eli would marry, discussing how good she'd be for him, even discussing that baby Eli had seen so long ago.  He didn't remember anything about her death.

 

A knot formed in his gut at the thought.  If Maggie _did_ die...what would happen to Eli?  What would he do?  He collapsed in a chair near the table, groaning as he shoved his hands through his hair.  He didn't know what was going on, or why this was happening, but he prayed there was a reason behind this madness – that God knew what He was doing, for Maggie's sake.  For Eli's.

 

– V –

 

As soon as Patti saw Eli exiting the elevators, she was out of her chair and rushing over to him.  She frowned at the black look on his face and decided the visit to Dr. Chen's hadn't gone as well as he had hoped.  Taking that into consideration, she further decided that asking him about the vision that had prompted the visit wouldn't be the best of ideas right then.  Instead, when she reached him, she immediately placed a folder in his arms.  He jumped and looked at her, and she wondered if he had noticed her come over – or if he had even realized he was at the offices already.  If she had been anyone other than Patti Dellacroix, that might have been enough to make her pause and wonder just what on Earth he had seen.  As she was Patti Dellacroix, she kept that thought in the back of her mind and decided to plow ahead, business as usual.

 

“I rescheduled your nine-fifty as asked.  You'll now be seeing Ms. Gladstone at one-twenty – and I expect you to take your lunch hour familiarizing yourself with her case, since you decided you weren't coming in this morning,” she said, a false smile plastered to her face.  Eli glanced up at her, the look on his face nothing but grateful, and her smile lost a bit of its edge as it turned more genuine.  He preferred the no-nonsense Mayor of Sasstown over the coddler, anyway.

 

“Thanks, Patti,” he said, and she rolled her eyes.

 

“Just show up on time tomorrow, Eli – it's not my job to pick up your slack,” she said.  He opened his mouth to respond, no doubt to tell her that's _exactly_ what her job was, when his phone rang.  He gave her an apologetic smile as he dug the phone out of his pocket.

 

“Eli Stone,” he said, bringing the phone to his ear.  He breathed a sigh of relief as he heard Maggie's voice answer.

 

“Hey, Eli!  It's me.  I switched my flight, just like you asked – the earliest I could get leaves in an hour.  I should be in around two-thirty tomorrow afternoon,” she said, and he sighed again.  Problem solved, vision avoided – Maggie would be fine.

 

“That's great!” he said, the majority of his fear slipping away as easily as the smile that turned his lips came.

 

“So what did you see, anyway?” she asked, and he paused.  “What was so terrible that I had to switch flights?”

 

“It doesn't matter, not anymore,” he said quickly, and he could almost see the confused frown creasing her expression at that.

 

“Ok, whatever,” she finally said, and he chuckled.

 

“Really?  You're going to let it go that easily?” he asked, and she sighed.

 

“The way I see it, if you think I really needed to know, you'd tell me.  If you say it's not important, it's not important.  I trust you, Eli,” she said, and he stopped walking as her words sunk in.  He closed his eyes and took a breath, an immense feeling of gratitude washing over him.

 

“Thank you, Maggie,” he said.  “I love you.”

 

“I know,” she said, laughing.  There was a voice behind her, and she agreed to whatever was said.  “Hey, look, I gotta go.  I'll see you tomorrow, ok?”

 

“Ok,” he said.  “Love you.”

 

“You, too,” she said.  “Bye, Eli.”

 

He said goodbye and hung up, then slipped the phone back into his pocket.  He jumped when he turned to find Patti still by his side, giving him the look she reserved for whenever he was being exceptionally thick or she was exceptionally annoyed – usually both.  He frowned at her, and she tipped her head and arched a brow.

 

“What _did_ you see, Eli?  Really?” she asked, pretenses be damned.  She knew it was bad, both from what he had told her earlier and how angry he had looked upon his return from Chinatown, but she'd had enough skirting around the issue.  She needed to know exactly what it was he had seen, and he was going to tell her.  “And don't pull that 'it doesn't matter' crap on me, Eli – you know it does.  If it was important enough for you to blow off your entire morning to see Dr. Chen _and_ have Maggie reschedule her flight -”

 

“How did you -?” he started, but she jerked her head at him as she cut him off.

 

“You talk loud!” she snapped, her hands settling on her hips.  “Now you tell me what you saw, Eli Stone, or so help me I will -”

 

“I saw her die, ok?!” he snapped, and she paused as the gusto slipped out of her like the air in a popped balloon.  Her mouth fell open, her eyes widening as she looked at him.  _What?_   “I saw Maggie dying tomorrow at noon.  There's a car accident outside the building, and she...”

 

“Eli...” she gasped.  As quickly as her irritation had left it returned, and she slapped his arm and nodded towards his pocket.  “What are you just standing here for?!  Get back on that phone right now – warn her!”

 

“There's no need, Patti – and ow!” he said, giving her a look.  Her glare hardened, and he sighed.  “Look, Maggie switched her flight, right?  So she's not coming in until two-thirty.  The accident's going to be around noon – she won't be anywhere near here.  She'll be fine,” he said, smiling in what he hoped was a convincing manner.  He needed Patti to believe it so he could believe it, otherwise...  “Now, when's my next appointment?”

 

“One-twenty with Ms. Gladstone,” she finally said, her tone as begrudging as her look.  She recalled having told him that not five minutes before, but given his current distraction she’d let it slide – this time.  She handed him another file and turned.  “And she better be ok, Eli.”

 

Eli watched her return to her desk, silently praying she was right.

 

– V –

 

“There!” Mason cried, jumping up in his seat as he pointed to a waffle joint across from the street they were driving down.  George cursed as she made a sharp turn, muttering out a 'Finally!' as they pulled into the parking lot of the diner they'd spent nearly an hour searching for.  Mason let out a shout as the violent turn caused him to fall back in his seat (and at the screaming horns and glaring headlights of the cars she cut off to make the rather illegal turn), and he gave her a wide-eyed look as she pulled into an empty space in the diner's parking lot.  She relaxed against her seat as she turned the car off, letting a breath out in a huff as she glared at the windows in front of her.  There was a family in the booth behind the window gawking at her, just like Mason was, and she fought back the urge to flip them off.

 

“What the fuck is it with the undead and waffles?” she asked instead, narrowing her eyes on the family that was _still_ staring.

 

“They...taste good?” Mason asked, sitting up a bit.  She turned to look at him, an eyebrow raised in incredulity, and he shrugged.  “Look, I dunno.  Der Waffle Haus sells more than just waffles.”

 

“This isn't Der Waffle Haus,” she said, giving him a pointed look.  He groaned and flopped back, throwing an arm over his eyes.

 

“Look, I'm tired and starving and quite frankly, darlin', I don't give a fuck _why_ this Kalla person wanted to meet here.  All I know is she does and they have food, so can we cut the fucking small talk and just go eat?” he asked, raising his arm to peek an eye at her.  She rolled her eyes and stashed her keys in her pocket before she opened her door and stood.  He followed suit, and they made their way to the entrance of the diner.

 

“You're cranky when you're hungry,” she said, and he snorted at that, shaking his head as he chuckled.  A mental chant of 'Georgie, Georgie, Georgie...' rang through his head as he opened the door, and she walked under his arm to enter the waffle house.  She looked around the diner as he came in behind her, and her eyes landed on a redheaded woman a few booths away from the door.  George nudged Mason, nodding towards the woman, and he pushed her forward.  She gave him a look, he mouthed ' _Star-ving!_ ', and she rolled her eyes as they walked over to the booth.  The woman, who looked to be about thirty-five (but George figured was actually much older), smiled genially at them, her hands folded neatly on the table.  George guessed she'd already eaten, from the half-empty glass of tea and the mostly-eaten plate of fries near her hands.

 

“Hi!  I'm guessing you two would be Mason and George?” she asked, and George's eyes narrowed on her.  Well, at least Rube hadn't told her she was 'Georgia' or 'Peanut'...

 

“Kalla?” she asked, and the woman's smile grew.

 

“That would be me!  Welcome to San Francisco!” she said.  She nodded towards the opposite side of the booth.  “Aren't you gonna sit down?  You must be tired and hungry after your trip.

 

“Starving!” Mason said, plopping down in the empty bench.  George gave him another look.  If she heard that word one more time...  She grabbed his feet, which he had kicked up on her seat, and shoved them back to the floor.  He gave her an injured look as she sat.

 

“Would you rather have me sit on 'em?” she asked, and he gave her one of his lopsided grins.  He opened his mouth, no doubt to say something smartassed and classic Mason, when the waitress walked over and saved her from his retort (and the subsequent “fuck off” she’d have to reply with).

 

“Hi, I'm Jess, your server.  What can I get you guys to drink?” the waitress asked, and Mason turned his attention to her as he ordered a soda.  George ordered the same, and after she had jotted the order down on her notepad she left to attend to her other tables.  George looked back to Kalla and noticed she was still smiling.  She also noticed that the older reaper looked tired, but – given what Rube had told her had been going on here – she wasn't really surprised by that.  She figured she'd be losing sleep, too, if she had lost a couple of souls like that.

 

“So, how was the drive?” Kalla asked, and she shrugged.  She started to answer when Mason sat up in the seat, pulling his legs up next to him and grinning at Kalla.

 

“Right, sorry, but I gotta know: how the hell do you lose two souls?” he asked.  He quirked his brows at her as he leaned forward and swiped a fry from her plate.  George cleared her throat.  He turned towards her.

 

“Wha'?” he asked, and her nausea from that morning returned as she saw the half-chewed food in his mouth.  She gave him a pointed look, nodding towards Kalla, and he rolled his eyes as he swallowed.  “Sorry...”

 

“Sorry about him,” George said as she looked back to their temporary boss.  Mason sunk low in his seat, glaring stubbornly at her as he mouthed 'starving' again, and she forced a smile towards Kalla as she reached over and pinched his ankle.  He yelped and sat up, his legs sliding out of her reach as he shook his foot.  God, he was such a wuss...

 

“It's quite all right,” Kalla said, laughing.  She nodded towards Mason.  “Rube warned me.”

 

She took a sip of her tea, and the reapers waited (somewhat im)patiently to see if she would actually answer Mason's question.  She pushed her tea away and looked at him, that tired smile again curling her lips.  George wasn't sure how much she liked this woman.  She seemed too...happy.  Delores-happy, which didn’t equate with Death and reapers in her mind.

 

“I can tell you quite easily how I lost those souls: Bev and Austin's quotas were filled during a mass reap,” she said calmly.  “As you both know, you don't know you're a reaper until another reaper tells you.  No one got a good look at the souls before Bev and Austin went off with their lights, and we think the new guys might have piggybacked when they saw the other souls crossing over.”

 

“You didn't know their names?” Mason asked, giving her an incredulous look.  “Couldn't, I dunno, go 'John Smith, over here!' beforehand?  What the fuck kind of reaper are you?”

 

“Mason!” George hissed, reaching over to punch him again.  He yelped and grabbed his arm, giving her a wounded look as she glared at him.  “What the hell is your problem?!  Stop being so rude!”

 

“Star-” he started, and she jabbed a finger in his face.

 

“Say it one more time, Mason.  One more time,” she said, curling that finger back to form a fist.  He scowled at her as Kalla sighed.

 

“Look, I know I messed up.  It was a monumental slide on my part, and I'm very sorry your lives had to be disrupted to help because of a screw-up I made.  I understand you're upset at that -” she started, and Mason snorted.

 

“You kidding?  I love being away from Rube,” he said.  He grinned at her.  “I just find it hilarious that you're more of a fuck-up than me.”

 

“Again, I am so sorry about him,” George said, rolling her eyes as she fell back in her seat.  She shouldn't be surprised, honestly.  He was treating Kalla just like he treated Rube, or anyone else for that matter.  Kalla waved her off.

 

“And like I told you: Rube warned me.  The point I was getting to is that where we currently stand is that the two souls are lost, and we're busy trying to find them while still keeping up with our regular reaps.  And if they did piggyback, we have to figure out where the hell we go from there: are their replacements the next two souls reaped, or do we have to get some reapers transferred?” Kalla sighed, bringing a hand up to rub her temples.

 

“You could always ask Plague Division – I'm sure some of them would love the transfer,” George quipped, and Kalla gave her a grateful smile.

 

“I like you – you're a positive thinker,” she said, and Mason snorted.  George shot him a look, and he grinned at her.

 

“That's our Georgie,” he said.  “The positivest!”

 

“Shut the fuck up, Mason,” she snapped.  His grin grew.  George looked back to Kalla, choosing to ignore him.  “Look, just so we're clear: we're temps.  Rube said you'd need us for a few days, and I'm ok with that – but once that's over, we go back to Seattle.  We're not staying here as your replacements.”

 

“You never know – you guys might like the City,” Kalla said, laughing slightly.  She sobered instantly at George's dark look.  “I know, and I understand.  Don't worry: upper management told me this should all be sorted very soon, so you won't be here long.  I understand that you probably want to get back to your own division.  Rube said you were close.”

 

“Pfft,” Mason snorted.  “Like I said: I love time away from Rube.”

 

“Speaking of, did Rube already give you your post-its?” she asked, and George nodded.

 

“Yeah,” she said.

 

“And we already found the place,” Mason said, grinning at George.  She cocked a brow at him, and he looked back to Kalla.  “When we were looking for this joint.  It's only a few blocks from here.”

 

“And what the hell?” George asked, and Kalla looked at her.  “What the fuck is up with the waffle joint?  Is that some kind of reaper thing?”

 

“Actually, my group usually meets at a Denny's two blocks south of here – that's where we'll be tomorrow morning, by the way, but as you already have your post-its you don't have to come if you don't want.  Anyway, Rube was telling me about Der Waffle Haus, and I thought meeting here would help...oh, acclimate you to the city.  A little reminder of home,” she said, smiling brightly.  She was beginning to annoy George with her 'positive thinking'.  Mason snorted at that, and George scowled.

 

“Right, 'cause meeting at a waffle joint multiple times every day for four years and you obviously just _love_ waffles,” she said.

 

“They sell more than waffles,” Mason said again, and George gave him a look.  He grinned at her, and she found herself grinning back.  She laughed slightly as she shook her head.  “And you love their waffles.”

 

She really did.  Their oatmeal wasn’t bad, either.

 

Kalla smiled at them, but she quickly hid it by taking another sip of her tea.  She nodded to the menus behind the napkin dispenser and said, “You guys should look through those so you can order when the waitress returns.  I'm sure you’re hungry.”

 

“St-” Mason started, but another look from George and he clamped his mouth shut.  He handed her a menu, giving her a sheepish smile.  George took the menu and flipped it open, scanning the items listed.  Apparently, they served more than just waffles, too – but not much.

 

“So, do you know of any cheap motels around here?” she asked, and Kalla waved her off.

 

“Don't be silly,” she said.  “You're staying with me.  It's cheaper than a motel, I have the room, and it's better than sleeping in your car.”

 

“Thanks,” George said as the waitress walked up.  She put their drinks on the table and offered them an apologetic smile.

 

“Sorry for the wait,” she said.  “So, what can I get you kids?”

 

Forty-five minutes later, after a quick meal of burgers and easy chatter, George pulled her Mustang up outside an apartment complex.  Kalla, who was sitting in the back seat, pointed to a side road that led to an underground parking garage, and after finding a space for her car Kalla was leading them to the elevators that would take them into the building.  A short trip and shorter walk later found them inside a small apartment located on the fifth floor of the complex.  Kalla made quick work of a tour, which wasn't hard to do as the apartment consisted of a main room (divided by a counter into a kitchen and living room) and a short hall that led to the bedrooms and bathroom.  She threw out the usual hostess chatter, saying things like how the apartment wasn't much but was good enough for her, and George and Mason shared a look.  George was about to make her own comment when Kalla stopped outside a door.

 

“Well, that's it!  Here's your room,” Kalla said, smiling at them.  They froze as they looked into the open door, taking in the small guest room with the equally small bed.  Kalla shoved some sheets they hadn't noticed her grab into Mason's arms.  “Enjoy!  Have a good night, you two – and like I said, you don't have to come to breakfast tomorrow, since you already have your post-its.  Feel free to raid the kitchen.  I think I have some Pop-Tarts in one of the cupboards.”

 

She turned to go, and George hesitated before asking, “So...am I on the couch?”

 

Kalla looked back, giving her a strange look.  She glanced at the room before taking in the uncomfortable looks on their faces, and she said, “Don't be silly, George.  You're in there with him.”

 

“What the fuck?!” George cried, unable to stop the outburst from spilling out.  Mason frowned at her.

 

“Gee, don't sound too excited, Georgie,” he grumbled, adjusting the sheets in his arms.  Kalla turned back to face them, crossing her arms over her chest.  She arched a brow at George.

 

“I don't see what the problem is, George.  Rube said you two lived together,” she said, and Mason nodded.

 

“Right, but that's it.  We're housemates, that's it,” he said, and George jerked her head towards him.

 

“ _He_ sleeps on the couch,” she said.  Kalla snorted at that.

 

“No wonder you're so high-strung, making your guy sleep on the couch,” she said, and George gagged as Mason fervently shook his head.

 

“Oh, no – not us!  We're just mates, we are!” he said, and she nodded eagerly.

 

“Just.  Friends,” she said, and Kalla rolled her eyes as she shook her head in exasperation.

 

“Look, no offense, but I am way too tired to deal with your personal shit right now.  Work it out – if one of you wants to take the couch, fine, but I promise that bed's a hell of a lot more comfortable.  Good night,” she said, turning to go towards the door at the end of the hall.  A moment later, she disappeared behind it, slamming it shut.  George looked up at him, and he gave her a half-smile and shrugged.

 

“It's just a night or two, Georgie,” he said, motioning towards the room.  “'Sides, s'not like we haven't shared before.”

 

She just rolled her eyes, snatched the blankets from him, and headed into the room.  He watched as she tossed their duffels by the dresser.

 

“You keep to your own damn side, Mason, or I swear to God you're sleeping on the floor,” she snapped, and he grinned as he trotted a step or two to catch up to her.  He grabbed her around the waist and pulled her back against him, grinning against her ear.

 

“Aw, c'mon, Georgie.  You know I make a great pillow,” he whispered, squeezing her lightly.  She laughed, squirming slightly against his grip.

 

“Fuck off, Mason,” she said, and he laughed as he kissed her cheek.  He released her and grabbed the blankets before heading towards the bed, where he began arranging them.  She watched him, gawking slightly at his slightly uncharacteristic gesture.  She expected him to pull that shit with Daisy, but...not with her.  Rarely with her.  He looked back at her, a frown turning his lips.

 

“Coming?” he asked, snapping her out of her daze.

 

“Whatever,” she mumbled, shuffling over to the opposite side of the bed.  She kicked her shoes off and crawled in, too tired to bother with changing.  Mason climbed in after her, and despite her earlier warning he immediately moved to her side, curling up against her and resting his head on her shoulder.  She looked at him, quirking a brow at the way he wrapped his arms around her middle and hugged her close.  Apparently, he thought she made a great pillow, too.  His eyes were already closed.

 

“G'night, Georgie,” he mumbled, and her irritation slipped away as she smiled at him.

 

“Good night, Mason,” she whispered, and she reached over to click the nightstand light off.  She was asleep within minutes.

 

– V –

 

_BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP_

George groaned and scrunched her nose against the noise.  It had pulled her out of sleep and continued on even after waking her, refusing to cease.  Logically, she had already identified it as an alarm clock – one she didn't remember setting.  However, the larger part of her brain wasn't quite that awake yet, and it refused to listen to the logic telling her to find the alarm and shut it off.  She groaned again, wondering why the annoying beeping wouldn't just _stop_ , and she finally turned her head to find the offensive clock sitting on the nightstand by her side.  Her eyes snapped open as her brain bolted awake at the time: 10:00 A.M.

'SHIT!' her mind screamed, remembering her post-it had said she was to reap M. Dekker at 11:42.  That only left her and Mason an hour and forty-two minutes to wake up, dress, eat, and get over to the office building their reaps were to die at.  Her mind paused its swearing to take note of a piece of paper resting against the clock, a neat scrawl writing out a message on it.  She picked the note up and brought it to her face, blinking the sleep out of her eyes as she tried to read it.

_Morning!_

_I was going to get you guys up to see if you wanted to come to breakfast, but you just looked so cute – I couldn't bear waking you!  'Just friends' my ass, missy – you two are obviously involved!  ;P  Anyway, I set an alarm for you so you'll have time to eat something before your reaps.  Head over to the Denny's afterwards, all right?  It's not hard to find – like I said last night, just go two blocks south of the place you met me.  Better get going – you don't want to be late!_

_Kalla_

George didn't know what she found more annoying: that even Kalla's writing sounded perky, that she actually wrote out those little text faces, or that she was still so convinced her and Mason were a couple.  She frowned, squirming slightly as she noted she did feel a bit heavier, and she turned her head to find Mason was still wrapped up around her side.  She paused at the dopey grin on his face.  He looked so much younger when he slept.  She smiled softly at him, reaching over to brush some hair out of his face, before she bunched up the note and chucked it towards a trashcan near the door.  She reached over to the alarm then, slamming her fist down on it to finally shut it up.  She turned back to Mason, nudging him slightly in an attempt to wake him.

“Wake up, Mason,” she said, nudging him again.  He grumbled, mumbling out a request for five more minutes as he snuggled closer.  She tensed, Kalla's words ringing through her mind at his actions, but she quickly pushed them back.  She didn't have time to deal with that now, and – quite honestly – she didn't want to.  She nudged him again, harder this time.  When he still didn't budge, she kicked at him, effectively sending him towards the floor.  “Wake the fuck up, Mason!”

“What the fuck, Georgie?!” he cried, cursing as he rubbed his head.  She rolled her eyes.  He would be fine – 'reaper metabolism' and all that.  He scrambled into a sitting position, shooting her a murderous look as he continued rubbing his head.  By way of answering, she pointed to the clock behind her.

“Time to get up, sunshine,” she drawled.  “We've got an hour to eat and get to that building, so hurry up.  Kalla also wants us to meet her at the Denny's she was talking about after our reaps.  Now get out so I can change.”

“Aw, there's no reason I can't stay -” he started, giving her a suggestive smirk, and she chucked a pillow at his head.

“Get the fuck out, Mason!” she snapped, reaching for the clock.  He yelped and scrambled up, grabbing his bag as he scurried out of the room, tossing an “I'm going, I'm going!” over his shoulder as he went.

An hour and twenty-five minutes later, they were parked outside the address on their post-its, waiting patiently in the Mustang for their reaps to arrive.  Mason leaned back in his seat as George studied her post-it.  She glanced around, wondering which one of these people was M. Dekker – or if Dekker was even here yet.  She glanced at Mason as he yawned, stretching his arms high above his head.

“Gotta say, I do like San Francisco a bit more than Seattle,” he said.  He looked at her, giving her a grin.  “Nicer weather.”

She snorted at that and said, “Bullshit – you just like being away from Rube.”

“Can't argue with that!” he said with a laugh, raising an imaginary glass in cheers.  She rolled her eyes and continued scanning the crowd.  She slouched down in her seat and nodded towards the sidewalk.

“So, who do you think's gonna kick it?” she asked.  He perked up in his seat.  He loved playing High Risk Factor.  He looked around, his eyes finally settled on a middle-aged woman ambling down the street, her arms stuffed with groceries.

“That woman,” he said.  “She can't see around those bags – prime target for a graveling.”

Speaking of, George couldn't help but think, just where were the little bastards?  She hadn't seen one yet this morning.

“Nah...too obvious.  I say crosswalk accident,” she said.  He gave her an amused look, shaking his head at her.  They continued in their game, calling out possible targets but not really getting any closer to locating M. Dekker or R. Walsh.

“This street's too crowded,” Mason finally said, frowning at the people milling about.

“Damn it,” George spat, slinking farther down in her seat.  “I'm going to be so pissed if this is a post-death reap.  I hate those – I'm not that sloppy.”

“Yeah, but sometimes they can't be helped,” he said, looking back to her.  She sighed; she knew he was right, but that didn't keep her from hating the fact.  She looked down at her post-it, glancing quickly at the clock on the dash before checking the time on the note again.  She jumped as a crash sounded, and she looked up to find a cab had slammed into a streetlight.  From the way the driver was slouched against the steering wheel, she guessed that was one of their reaps – going from the license plate, ‘WLSHROX’, she guessed he was Mason's.  She nodded towards the license plate as they got out of the car, and Mason cursed as he rushed over with a crowd of others.  He played the role of concerned bystander well, reaching in with the others to 'help the driver'.  He brushed his hand against the man's arm, popping his soul before he slunk back and let the others take charge.  Effortless, like most reaps should be – even if it was a post-death soul pop.  The soul of R. Walsh appeared next to her as Mason made his way back over.  He gawked at his cab, looking as confused as most of the recently dead did.

“W-what happened?” he asked, just as Mason came to a stop by her side.

“You died,” he said, and Walsh's eyes widened impossibly more as he looked at him.

“But I just took some antihistamines!” he said, and George quirked her brows, frowning at the cabbie.

“I don't think they were antihistamines,” she mused.  She glanced at her watch and noticed the time was now 11:45; she frowned as she looked back up, looking around for another body.  “What the fuck?  Where the hell is my reap?”

Mason looked around, but the only body nearby was Walsh's.  Everyone else was fine, if a bit shaken from the accident.  So where was the other one?

“Maybe...I dunno, maybe he missed his appointment?” he asked, looking back at her.  She gave him a pointed look.  They both remembered what happened the last time that happened to her.  In all honesty, it had never happened to her – which was why his suggesting it bothered her so much.  She didn't like this.  Something wasn't right.  “Maybe you were just given the wrong time, George.”

“No,” she said, adamantly shaking her head.  “Rube wouldn't do that.”

“Rube wouldn't, but Ms. Lost-Her-Fucking-Souls Kalla would.  'Clerical errors' and all that,” Mason said, and George gave him a sharp look.

“Rube gave us the fucking post-its, Mason.  He wouldn't give me the wrong time,” she said.  She went back to scanning the street, wondering if Dekker was just late or...no.  Dekker didn't miss his appointment, and she hadn't been given the wrong time.  Something....something wasn't right.  This didn't happen, not to her.  Something was wrong.  “Show him to his lights, Mason.  I'm gonna wait here, just in case you're right.”

Mason gave her a concerned look, but he acquiesced.  He put a hand on Walsh's shoulder, smiling kindly at him as he asked him to come with him.  George watched them go, and she watched as Walsh walked off into a shimmering blue-green bowling alley.  She watched as Mason walked back over and returned to his seat in the car.  She took up a post on the trunk, and she watched as San Franciscan after San Franciscan walked past her as they went about their day.  She watched for three hours, and not a single accident.  Not one single sign that anyone named 'M. Dekker' was preparing to die on this street.

She didn't want Mason to be right.  She didn't want to think she had been given the wrong time or that M. Dekker had simply missed the appointment.  She didn't want to think that because thinking that made her think of P. Monroe and all the people that died because she let him live.  How many people would die because M. Dekker never showed?  Would anyone else die, if it was a legitimate hiccup?  She groaned and slunk forward, shoving her hands in her hair.  Rube was going to kill her when he found out.  Christ, Kalla was going to kill her, if Rube had told her about Monroe!

“Georgie?” she looked up at the sound of Mason's voice.  He had left his seat to come stand beside her.  He looked nervous, shifting from foot to foot as he stared at the ground.  He glanced up at her.  “Maybe we should just go to the Denny's, George.  Meet up with Kalla and see if she knows what the hell happened.”

“Ma-” she started, but he shook his head, cutting her off.

“George, it's been _three fucking hours_ ,” he said.  “Face it, Georgie: your reap's not gonna show.”

She looked to the sidewalk, scanning the people passing by once more.  She didn't like this.  It wasn't right!  She looked back to find Mason giving her a pleading look, and she heaved a sigh.  Fine.  She didn't like it, but fine.  She hopped off the trunk and headed back to the driver's side, her thoughts refusing to leave M. Dekker and P. Monroe.  What the hell?  Rube had told her hiccups were rare, but if they were so rare why wasn't M. Dekker here?  Why wasn't he already off in his lights?  What the hell had happened?

She jumped as she felt Mason's hand on her shoulder, and she paused with her hand on the keys in the ignition.  He gave her a reassuring smile, squeezing her shoulder slightly.

“Don't worry, Georgie.  We're going to figure this out,” he said.  She wanted to smile, wanted to thank him for trying to make her feel better, but all she did was scowl as she turned the car on.  He gave her shoulder a final squeeze before removing his hand, but the scowl remained on her lips as she drove off.

Neither had noticed the man watching them from the twentieth story window in the building behind them.


	2. Second Chances

Eli stood by the window in a conference room facing the street outside.  His eyes followed the people walking along, each one of them completely unaware of the tragedy preparing to strike – but that thought made him pause, wondering if the accident would even happen now.  Was the whole thing off just because Maggie wouldn't be there?  It had to be – that had been his whole vision.  A car had crashed into Maggie, and she had...but it wasn't happening now.  He had prevented it.

So why was he standing here, waiting for the inevitable?

He glanced at his watch.  11:41.  One minute until the time written on that post-it – if that was what the post-it had meant.  He closed his eyes, unwilling to believe that.  If the post-it, while odd, wasn't to warn him of the time the accident would occur, what else could it be for?  Why had he kept Maggie away from this time if the vision would only play out later?  He had to believe that's what it meant – but, he reasoned, even if it did, he might not even know now.  He had stopped it, hadn't he? He had –

He jumped as a crash sounded below him, metal striking metal.  He looked down to the street, his eyes bugging as he saw the cab smashed against the streetlight.  His heart skipped a terrified beat before it began racing.  He watched as people rushed to help the driver, but his gut twisted as a feeling of dread crept into him.  That cabbie wasn't ok.  He swallowed thickly, that feeling of dread contorting into pained guilt.  Had he caused this?  By saving Maggie, by keeping her away, had he caused that driver's death?  Oh, God...what had he done?

He was jerked out of guilt-ridden musings by a flash of blonde, and his heart nearly stopped in his chest as he noticed the girl standing by a red convertible a few cars behind the crash.  He saw a man run over to her, and he swallowed again.  He recognized them – he knew them.  They were the exact same people from his vision, the girl with the post-it and the man who had been with her.  His heart thundered in his chest, panic rushing through him as he watched them.  They were standing there talking, but...it was strange, absurd.  He knew they had to be talking with each other, and yet...it looked like there should be someone else there, like there was an invisible third person in their discussion.  The man walked off, leaving the girl by the car.  She took a seat on the trunk, watching the sidewalk like...like she was looking for someone.  Waiting for someone.

Waiting for Maggie.

A lead weight dropped into his stomach as the realization hit him.  He remembered his vision, remembered that strange glow where the girl had touched Maggie, and his stomach lurched.  Who – _what_ – was she?

He left the window, unable to watch her any longer.  He was just over-reacting – it had to be no more than a coincidence that they were there (‘Bull,’ a part of his mind hissed: when was anything with his visions ever _coincidence?_ ).  Everything would be fine – _Maggie_ would be fine.  He went back to work, that solitary thought the mantra that got him through his day.  He'd return to the window periodically to find the two still there in that car, the girl still sitting on the trunk searching for someone.  Three hours after the accident, he returned to find the man talking to her.  She looked angry, scared...much like he felt.  He watched as they got back in the car, watched as they drove off, and felt that all should be fine now.  He should feel better about things, so why didn't he?  He was relieved to see them go, but that feeling of foreboding still clung to him.  That girl had been looking for Maggie, and he had no idea why – but he knew it couldn't be good.

 

Still, he knew it would do him no good now to dwell on it.  He had nothing further to go on, and as far as he knew Maggie was ok.  Maggie would be ok.  He could only hope that it was over now, so with that thought he returned to work and shoved the blonde and her friend out of his mind.

 

Half an hour passed with no incident.  He did paperwork, researched cases, made phone calls – he did his job.  He didn't think about Maggie (other than to check the clock for her imminent return; she had been out of town for nearly a week now, and he had missed her).  He didn't think about the blonde by the convertible.  He didn't think of that vision.  He didn’t even think of the furious looks Patti kept sending his way.  He just did his job, and things went by smoothly.

 

He was standing by Patti's desk, waiting while she looked up a phone number for him, when the elevators opened and a painfully familiar voice called out to him.  He breathed a sigh of relief.  Behind him was Maggie, and she was fine.  Perfect.  Alive.  He turned, an ear-splitting grin on his face, and froze.

 

He was on a sidewalk.

 

And Blue Öyster Cult was playing loud and clear.

 

He watched as Maggie twirled out of the elevator and towards him.  Watched as she danced with the other people on the sidewalk.  Watched as the brown-haired man from his first vision twirled in behind her, took her hand, and began dancing with her.  His eyes cut to the side, and his blood ran cold.  There, standing by a street sign, was the blonde.

 

“Valentine is done – here, but now they're gone,” Maggie sang, and he swallowed thickly.  _No._

 

“Romeo and Juliet are together in eternity.  Romeo and Juliet,” the man sang, turning to face him head-on.  He raised his hand, pointing a long finger at him.  “Forty thousand men and women every day – like Romeo and Juliet.  Forty thousand men and women every day.”

 

What was he trying to say?  That he should let Maggie die?  That death happened all the time, and it was so inconsequential?  That he should just let her go, as it was so natural?  He couldn't do that.  Damn it, he couldn't do that!

 

“Come on, baby, don't fear the reaper,” Maggie sang as the man twirled her, and he watched as the blonde pushed herself away from the street sign.  She walked up behind Maggie as she continued singing, and she ran her hand along Maggie's arm.  He saw the same glow, and his gut twisted.  He looked around, looking for any sign of when this would happen, but there was no post-it this time.  He looked down at his watch and had barely noted the time – 2:26 – when a shout in front of him caused his head to jerk up.  A man had run out of the store Maggie and the man were dancing in front of – a little shop called You Say Tomato, from the signs on the window and the awning – and he had spun around to raise a gun towards the door.  The man from the first vision spun Maggie towards him, and she was mid-twirl when the man from the store fired his gun.  She stopped, staring at him wide-eyed, as a red patch started to stain the fabric covering her chest.

 

“NO!” he screamed, reaching out as he took a step forward.  He blinked, gasping, and the sidewalk was gone.  He was still at the WSA offices, and there was Maggie – _fine_ – right in front of him.  His eyes darted around, searching in vain for the blonde or her friend, but they were gone – just like the street.  Another vision.  Another...oh God.  No.  No no no no...

 

“Eli?” Maggie asked, her voice dragging him out of his inner turmoil.  She was frowning, looking to someone behind him – Patti?  He shook his head, trying to clear it, and let a nervous laugh bubble out as he glanced around.  Activity on the main floor had halted at his shout, the eyes of his coworkers all locked on him.  _Not again._   He waved, a weak grin quirking his lips.

 

“…more calls, Patti, please,” he said, glancing back to find Patti giving him a withering, ‘Don’t You Dare Involve Me’ look.  Before anyone could question him further he turned and rushed back into his office.  He missed the worried look Maggie shared with Patti as he slammed his door shut.  He heard it open a moment later as he leaned forward against the table.  He stayed like that, eyes closed and breathing steadily in a vain attempt to calm himself.  He jumped when he felt a hand on his shoulder, and he whirled around to find Maggie standing behind him.  He forced a smile, but her face remained creased in a frown.

 

“What did you see, Eli?” she asked, and he let out another nervous laugh.  He couldn't tell her.  He couldn't.

 

“It's great to see you, too, Maggie,” he said as he pulled her into a hug.  Her arms easily found the familiar path around him, but he could feel the tension behind the embrace.  She wouldn't be distracted, he knew.  “I missed you.”

 

“I missed you, too,” she said, squeezing him gently. She pulled back slightly and looked up at him, placing her palm against his cheek.  “Now what did you see?”

 

“Nothing,” he said, and her gaze hardened.  “Really, Maggie, it was nothing important.  It was...”

 

“Eli, stop,” she said, and he pushed out a breath as his eyes closed.  He prayed that she would let it go, but he doubted that prayer would be answered.  God didn't really seem to be on his side lately.  “I know you saw something, and from your reaction out there I'm guessing it wasn't good.  And yesterday!  You made me change my flight, and I know you saw something then, too.  Eli, what's going on?  What did you see?”

 

He leaned his face into her hand, focusing on the very real, very tangible feeling of _her_.  How could he tell her he's watched her die twice now?  How could he explain that without scaring her, when the very idea terrified him?  He wanted – needed – her to drop this, but he knew Maggie.  She was curious, and once she latched onto something...she wouldn't let this go, he knew.  He swallowed thickly, his stomach still in knots as his mind raced.  She brought her other hand up, grasping his face and lifting his head slightly so he'd have to look at her.  He opened his eyes, watching her hesitantly.

 

“I've told you before, Eli.  I love you, and I want to help you.  Don't keep me out.  You have to tell me,” she said.  He looked away, but her gaze never wavered.  He swallowed again, took a deep breath, and shook his head.  No.  He couldn't tell her.

 

“I told you, Maggie.  It's not important.  I promise: if it was, I would tell you.  It won't happen, Maggie.  I won't let it,” he said.  Her gaze flickered for a moment, a flash of nerves playing in her eyes that she quickly masked.

 

“You won't let _what_ happen?” she asked after a minute, and he gave her a smile that he didn't really feel as he pulled her against him again.  He buried his face in the crook of her neck, taking a deep breath as he tried to calm his mind.  He wanted to stay like this, holding her tight and knowing she was fine.

 

“Don't worry.  It's going to be ok,” he said.  She still felt tense, and he knew she didn't believe him.  He wished she would.  Maybe, if she did, he could believe it himself.  “Everything's going to be ok.”

 

– V –

 

There was no denying it: his Georgie-girl was _pissed off_.  She was probably a good million or so degrees above pissed off, actually – Mason was pretty sure she was just shy of murderous (he would say she _was_ murderous, but as you can't really kill someone who's undead he would wager it'd be pretty hard to be so, at least successfully).  Her mood had been steadily darkening over the past three hours, each minute M. Dekker refused to show blackening it further.  Now, as they drove away from the reap site and towards the Denny's Kalla had indicated the previous night, he was almost afraid to say anything.  George had quite a bit of a temper on her, and while he had developed somewhat of an immunity to it over the years, that immunity didn't always block the bite.  And yet he felt he should say _something_ , do something to at least try and help her feel better – or at least calm her down.  She was angry, and something about that didn't sit right with him.

 

So, he did what he did best.  He pulled funny faces, tried silly jokes, made sarcastic quips...he did anything and everything he could think of to brighten his George's mood.  Nothing worked, and he was a bit nervous that, by the time she was pulling into a space at the Denny's, her mood was blacker than ever.

 

“Mason?” she asked, her voice steady as she turned the old 'Stang off.

 

“Yeah, Georgie?” he asked, slipping down in his seat to rest his head on her shoulder.  He batted his lashes at her, pulling moon eyes in an attempt to get a small smile from his favorite reaper.

 

“Fuck off,” she said, shooting one of her I Am So Pissed Off Don't Fucking Fuck With Me looks his way.  The more twisted of his sides – which, admittedly, was his larger and more predominant side – was actually looking forward to going into that Denny's: he actually wanted to see George rip Kalla a new one.  When you weren't on the receiving end of George Lass's wrath, watching the show could be pretty damn amusing.  His grin only grew at her snap, and he bumped his head against her shoulder.

 

“Georgie?” he asked, and she cocked a brow at him.  He waggled his brows at her, nudging her shoulder again.  “You gonna kill Kalla, Georgie?”

 

“She's fucking undead, Mason.  Killing her won't do a damn bit of good,” she scowled.  He gave her a pointed look, as if he was trying to remind her the technicalities weren't the important thing here.  She sighed, and – beyond what he thought her capable of, given her mood – she offered up a weak smile.  His lips were starting to hurt from how large his grin had gotten.  “But if not for that fact, she'd already be six feet in the ground.”

 

“That's my Georgie-girl,” he said, tossing an arm around her shoulders and giving her a good squeeze before she shoved him off.  She was smiling in earnest now, though, and a little part of his mind was damned proud that he had been the one to put that smile on her face.  They got out of the car and started walking towards the restaurant's entrance.  He noticed her scowl had returned a moment after they were past the doors, when she saw Kalla's red head bobbing animatedly from a booth near the door as she laughed at something a black-haired, tan-skinned woman said.  They shared a look, and he nodded towards the booth.  She started to head over, when a snap impulse caused him to reach out and grab her shoulder.  She looked back at him, annoyance written in spades across her face, and he sighed.

 

“George, just...look, I know this is bad, 'course I know that,” he said, and he leveled her with a heart-felt stare – or at least as heart-felt as someone like him could manage.  According to Rube, fuck-ups like him weren't really known for their sincerity, but that didn't mean he didn't care, though.  Irrational though it was – but when the fuck was he ever rational? – he did care for her, and seeing her this messed up...he knew her.  He knew exactly where M. Dekker's missed appointment had taken her, and he knew – underneath all that ire – a small part of her was just waiting for another fitness machine defect massacre to come spilling in through the doors.  He knew that part of her, despite all of her bravado, was scared shitless.  “But whatever she says, this wasn't your fault.  You did everything right, George.  She's the fuck-up here, not you.  Never you, Georgie.”

 

She paused, her expression flickering to something softer for a minute, before she sighed and closed her eyes.  Her head hung as she stood there breathing, and for a moment he was scared he had overstepped some boundary.  But then she looked up, gave him a quick smile, and nodded.  She even leaned in to kiss his cheek, whatever the hell _that_ was about.

 

“Thanks, Mason,” she said.  He gave her a nervous smile, and then the scowl was back in place as she whirled around and stalked towards the booth – where neither Kalla or her friend had noticed them yet.  His grin returned in a flash, and he practically bounced in his excitement.  He was glad for the distraction.  He didn't do well with feelings, and that was exactly what all those heart-felt moments with George brought up in him – and that was exactly what he spent so much time at the bottom of bottles trying to avoid.  So he gave himself a good mental shake to clear his mind and followed her lead, straight to where Kalla was now waving them over.

 

“Hey, guys!  I expected you two hours ago,” she said, and maybe it was because he was feeling so fucking observant at the mo, but he noticed a tired look about her expression – like she was being spread too thin.  The more sensible side of his mind – that part he rarely ever paid any attention to – noted that now might not be the best time for George's little rant, but that all-consuming twisted side, however, just giggled at her next words.  “So, how'd the reap go?”

 

“You are so fucked,” he said, giggling all the more.  George elbowed him, and he shot her a pouting look.  Hell, she could at least let him enjoy this – he was enjoying not being the primary fuck-up for once!  In response to his comment, Kalla merely arched one brow and shared a look with the Indian (Island?  Something along those lines, he wasn't quite sure – she just looked exotic, but in a way that made him think too much of Daisy for him to currently be comfortable with) woman (he'd guess she was in her twenties when she kicked it) beside her.  She looked back to George, and if he didn't know better he'd say she looked haughty.  Well, she had a pair on her, didn't she?  She was the one asking for _their_ help and fucking up _their_ reaps, after all.  (Well, George’s, but he counted, too!)

 

“I take it things didn't go according to plan?” she asked, and George slammed her hands palm side-down on the table, rattling the empty dishes.

 

“What the fuck is wrong with you?!” George snapped, and it took all he had not to laugh his head off.  As it was, he settled for another face-hurting, ear-splitting grin.  “What the fuck is wrong with your clerical department?!  M. Dekker never fucking showed!  How the fuck do you explain that?  And don't you dare say he was running late – and I swear to God, if you ask if I caused it I will find a way to fry your undead ass!”

 

Mason's lips twitched as he watched Kalla's mouth snap shut when George pointed an accusing finger in her face.  He glanced at the woman next to Kalla, who was looking at him like he was...well, like Daisy looked at him: like he was something her designer shoes had just stepped in (all right, so he hadn't seen her feet yet – but he would bet good money she was strapped in a pair of designer heels).  He had a feeling he wasn't going to like this one all that much.

 

“I waited for _three fucking hours_ , and Dekker never fucking showed!  Mason's guy was there, and he died right on schedule – but my guy?  Nothing.  No one.  Where the fuck is my soul, Kalla?” George slumped back in her seat as she finished her tirade, crossing her arms petulantly over her chest as she heaved in breathes.  He glanced at her, wondering if she had anything else to add, before glancing at Kalla and Island Girl.  He guessed they were wondering the same, from their faces.  As his Georgie-girl silently fumed beside him, Island Girl and Kalla shared a look.  Island Girl then raised her mug and sipped her drink, her eyes sliding closed as she drank what he guessed was tea (at least, it didn't look dark enough to be coffee – and he was a Brit, after all; shouldn't he know what tea looked like?).  Eyes still calmly shut, she lowered her mug back to the tabletop and addressed – he assumed – Kalla.

 

“I don't like these Seattle people,” she said, her voice clear like bells and sounding so fucking haughty he just wanted to punch her.  “They're too moody.”

 

“And just who the fuck are you?” George asked, whipping around to level her glare on her.  Island Girl smiled, her dark eyes opening to give his Georgie a charming look.  He was again struck by the insane urge to punch her.

 

“I'm Nadia, one of the San Fran regulars,” she said.  She extended a hand, her metal bangles clinking as her wrist moved.  “Charmed.”

 

“Fuck off,” George snapped, and Nadia slid her hand back like she'd been burned – or like George was diseased or something.

 

“Too moody,” she said, and George's eyes narrowed on her in a deadly glare.  Nadia ignored her and turned her attention back to him.  She gave him a sympathetic smile, and suddenly he was on edge.  Her look could almost be described as leering, if it didn't look so polite.  “You know, Mason, Kalla told me about your little predicament.  Honestly, just go ahead and fuck her – she's obviously in need.  I bet you both would be a lot more pleasant after a good roll in the sheets.  Or maybe you prefer against walls or windows or something?  People are so kinky these days – you can never be sure.”

 

He felt his jaw drop, his mind halting at 'fuck her' and reeling with its refusal to process the rest of Nadia's...observations and tips.  He was gobsmacked.  He was fucking gobsmacked.

 

“Fuck you!” George bit out, and he felt her hand fist against his thigh.  Had she been sitting that close to him the entire time?  His mouth opened and closed, trying to come up with some classic, witty, trademark Mason comment, but his mind was...Christ, he was just gobsmacked!  How could these people think that?  How could they even suggest it?  With George?  Him and his Georgie-girl?  Together?  As in... _together_ together?

 

...and there were those _feelings_ again.  Christ, he needed a drink...

 

“You were right about them, Kalla,” Nadia said, smirking at her boss.  He wanted to punch her again.  Repeatedly.  Until she stopped thinking him and George were _together_.  Sensing a possibly explosive situation that needed defusing quickly, or maybe he just hoped it was her being smart for once, Kalla flicked her hand up, a post-it held between her pointer and middle fingers.  She gave George a pointed look, almost like she was daring her to continue in her ranting, and George scowled at her as she made a grab for the tiny paper.  Kalla held it back just before George could snatch it, and her gaze narrowed.  Suddenly he was reminded of Rube, and he could see how – in a better time, when she was less harried and more in control – she would make a good head reaper.

 

“For your information, Peanut, I did know,” she said, and he felt George bristle beside him.  Oh, that wasn't good...George hated anyone calling her that, and she only put up with it from Rube 'cause...well, 'cause he was Rube.  Fuck if he knew.  “M. Dekker was rescheduled at the last minute due to an unforeseen complication.  As you don't carry a cell with you, I had no way of telling you this.  But kudos for sticking it out as long as you did – three hours?  That mess with P. Monroe must've really fucked you up, huh?”

 

“Bitch,” George growled as she snatched the post-it from Kalla's fingers.  Kalla sat back, a smug look on her face, and Mason felt he wanted to punch her, too.  Fuck, he was actually starting to miss Rube!  He glanced over at George's post-it, trying to distract himself from losing it on the bitches sitting across from them.  He glanced at Nadia, giving them her best I Don't Like You look, and his eyes tightened.  The feeling was entirely mutual.  He looked back to George's post-it.

 

M. Dekker.

1526 California Street.

E.T.D. 2:26 PM.

 

“Like I said: according to upper management, this is a legitimate hiccup.  Dekker was rescheduled, but he will be at that address tomorrow afternoon,” Kalla said.

 

“So another fucking night in San Fran-fucking-cisco,” he said, looking up at her.  She gave him her sweetest smile.  He really needed to be unconscious.

 

“Ain't it great?” she asked sweetly.  She looked back to George.  “Don't fuck it up, Peanut.”

 

“My name is George,” she snapped, and Kalla smiled.

 

“Rube called you 'Peanut',” she said, and George's gaze hardened to ice.

 

“And he's the only one who can get away with it,” she said.  She looked back to her post-it, and he frowned as he caught the haughty look seeping into Kalla's eyes.  What was she...?

 

“So, how was your morning, you two?  You looked awfully comfy when I left,” she said.  She gave them her best doe eyes, and his gut twisted.  “You sure you're not banging each other?  You do seem awfully cozy together.”

 

“Fuck you!” he and George shouted.  They jumped at the sound of a throat clearing, and they looked up to see a waitress had walked up to the booth while they were distracted by Kalla's words and their little outburst.  George glared at the woman unabashedly.  He, on the other hand, sensed an authority figure and instinctively slunk lower in the booth.

 

“This is a _family establishment_ ,” the waitress said.  “We'd appreciate it if you kept that kind of language outside, thank you.”

 

“Sorry,” George grumbled, and he slunk lower in his seat as he nodded the same.  Kalla and Nadia shared another amused look as Kalla apologized for them, and the waitress took their orders before walking off to place them.  Fuck.  He was already missing home – missing _Rube_ , even – and now...

 

“I miss Kiffany,” he grumbled, and he caught the ghost of a smile on George's face from the corner of his eye.  Somehow, that made it all worth it.

 

...but he did _not_ want to fuck her.

 

– V –

 

About twenty minutes later, George and Mason could again find themselves driving around San Francisco, once again looking for an unfamiliar address.  George was getting sick of this out-of-town reap business.  She was missing the familiarity of Seattle, of knowing where she was and where she was going.  She was missing the familiarity of her reaper group: of Rube's fatherly annoyance, Roxy's tough cop kickassedness, and even Daisy's entitled celebrity ways.  The only plus side of this out-of-town reaper exchange was that Mason was there with her, so she had some sense of home – but even that was causing problems.  Her scowl deepened.  Her mood was still murderous, only now it had nothing to do with Dekker or his rescheduled appointment (though she was still very annoyed by that little matter).  Now she was just pissed at Kalla and this Nadia person.

 

Who the hell did they think they were?  What the fuck were they thinking, making those assumptions about her and Mason?  They were just friends.  _Just.  Friends._   They weren't dating or sleeping together or anything even close – they were just friends!  Her hands gripped tighter on the steering wheel as the memories of their lunch continued to assault her mind.

 

They had eaten quickly, both desperate to be as far from their new _San Fran buddies_ as soon as possible.  The meal had passed in silence, save for the intruding conversation from Kalla and Nadia, and the following drive had passed just as quietly.  She wasn't sure if it was just because Mason was as angry as she was with their assumptions or if Mason was picking up on her ire and was unsure on what to say to make it better (she knew Mason – if he knew how to cheer her up, or even if he didn't, he would be trying), but whatever it was, he wasn't talking.  Apart from the occasional “Turn here” he was as silent as they come.  She slowed to a stop for a light, and when she glanced at him he was peeking at her out of the corner of his eye.  Realizing he'd been caught, he turned fully to face her and gave her a lopsided grin.

 

“Kalla making you miss Rubie yet?” he asked, and she snorted as she turned her attention back to the other stopped cars in front of them.

 

“Kalla is an incompetent fuck-up, moreso than you,” she bit out, and only part of her regretted the words.  She knew Mason was a fuck-up, but out of their little group she was the only one who didn't constantly point it out to him.  She understood that he tried and that most times he couldn't control the way things fell apart around him (even when he was trying his damnedest to keep them from doing so), so she was always the easiest on him.  She knew she had gone too far when that easy-going smile slipped from his face to be replaced by a scowl of his own.

 

Great.  Now they were both miserable.

 

“Gee, thanks,” he mumbled, turning back to face front as he sunk lower in his seat.  His arms folded over his chest, the classic pouting position, and she noted that if he slipped any lower he'd be lying down.  The silence drug on, and after he told her to make another turn she was sick of it.  She was sick of this weirdness that had fallen over them the past few days.  It just wasn't normal.  She wanted to blame Kalla, but it had started before their arrival in San Francisco.  He'd started this mood back in Seattle, back in Der Waffle Haus – but even before that.  Back when he'd...her eyes close a second as she breathed.  Shit, did this really all have something to do with Daisy?  He'd been weird ever since he went to see Daisy at her reap three days ago.

 

“So, is _San Fran_ making you miss Daisy?” she asked after another moment, and she felt his eyes dart to her.  Fuck him – she wanted answers.  She shot him a look to find his sullen eyes giving her a withering look, and she plowed ahead.  “You ready to tell me what's up with you two yet?”

 

“I already told you,” he said tersely, and she rolled her eyes.

 

“You avoided the fucking question, Mason,” she said.  “Just like you're doing now.”

 

“I told you I was tired of her – that's not avoiding the question,” he said.  He perked up and pointed to a street that bisected the one they were driving down.  “California Street – straight ahead.”

 

She turned onto the street and pulled into the first available space she saw.  They climbed out of the car and began walking down the street, searching for 1526.

 

“You said you were tired of her, ok, but you never said _why_ – that's where you're avoiding.  What happened?  Did you guys have a fight?” she asked, her eyes scanning the addresses on the businesses around them.  He was silent beside her, and she finally turned her attention away from the storefronts to find him giving her an appraising look.  His hands were shoved in his pockets, and though he was slouching he seemed tense.

 

“Why does it even matter, George?  Why do you care so much?” he asked, his voice quiet when it came.  He almost seemed annoyed that he even had to ask the question, and she just wanted to slap him for it.

 

“Why the fuck wouldn't I?” she asked, turning slightly to face him.  What the hell was his problem, anyway?  She was his friend.  Aren't friends supposed to care?  If your friends don't, then that just leaves you with your family – and if that was the case, then they were all screwed.

 

“What, you actually want me with Daisy?” he asked, a derisive snort escaping him.  She laughed at that, the sound harsh and bitter, but stopped at the look on his face.  It was brief, and for a moment she wondered if it had even been there, but she couldn't place it.  He covered it up too quickly – was it fear?  Hurt?  Indignation?  And what was it from, anyway?  The question or her laugh?  The thought that maybe she actually did want them to just sort their shit out and finally hook up?  The thought that maybe he wanted her to be the one he hooked up with instead?

 

God, she wanted to punch Kalla...

 

“Fuck no!” she said, snorting as she shook her head.  He arched a brow at her, and she gave him a pointed, no-nonsense look.  “Mason, I've been waiting _years_ for you to wise up to Daisy's bullshit.  You put yourself out there for her all the time, and she does nothing but throw it back in your face.  I'm sick of seeing you go on benders because Miss Perfect can't love you back when you shouldn't even want her to in the first place.  Really, Mason?  Daisy?  Hell, I'd be dancing or some shit if I thought you were seriously over her, but I don't get how you can be over her when it's just so fucking random.  What's brought all this out?  Why now?  Why not four years ago when all that Ray shit happened?  Why not all the times after when she kept telling you to fuck off?  What's so different this time?”

 

“What I don't get, Georgie, is why you care so much.  Ok, I'm over Daisy – who gives a fuck why?  Why can't you just be happy that I am and accept it?  Why do you care so much about the why and how?” he asked, that guarded look slipping back into place.  Change that thought: she wanted to punch _him_.

 

“Because it's not _you_ , Mason!  Going against Daisy isn't in your nature, and it's making you act weird – and not your usual weird, either!” she spat, and she saw his arms tense, probably because he was fisting his hands in his pockets.

 

“Now who's avoiding the fucking question?” he sneered, and she clenched her own fist to keep from slapping him.

 

“Fuck you!” she shouted, drawing a few unwelcome stares from the people around them.  His eyebrow soared again, a grin tugging unwillingly at his lips which only pissed her off more.  “You're my friend, Mason – best friend ever, if you want to know the truth.  So who gives a fuck if I care?  I'm fucking supposed to!  If you don't like it then just fuck off, because I'm not going to stop just 'cause you have a fucking issue with it!”

 

She whirled around, prepared to storm off in a huff, only to find the address they had been looking for above the door of the storefront before them.  She froze, her eyes widening as she took in the window display and the green awning.

 

“Found it,” she said, holding up her post-it and nodding towards the store.  After her tirade, her voice sounded so weak in her ears.  Mason remained silent, and her neck prickled like someone was watching her; she refused to face him and see if he really was just standing there staring at her.  She wouldn't crack first.  Instead, she shook her head, snorting at the graphic of the British flag flying above the Golden Gate painted on the window.  “Of course my reap would be taking place at a British shop.  How's that for irony, Mason?”

 

When he still didn't answer, she finally turned and looked at him, cursing him for making her cave.  He was just standing there watching her, this unreadable expression on his face that made her slightly uncomfortable.  Their last conversation flew through her mind, and a part of her wondered if maybe she had stepped over the line this time.  A few days ago she would have said no, that that line didn't exist for them.  Now?  She wasn't so sure.  But the thought that she had, that she might have jeopardized their friendship just by calling out that friendship, terrified her.

 

She didn't want to admit it, but losing Mason...losing Mason would be like losing Betty all over again, only worse – because this time, she had brought it all down on herself.  Her and her stupid mouth.

 

“Mason, I'm –” she started, but he cut her off by wrapping his arms around her and pulling her into a tight hug.  She tensed, unsure just what he was pulling.  He was her friend, fine, but...he didn't usually hug her.  Not like this, at least.

 

“Thank you, Georgie,” he said, the words muffled from where his face was buried against her neck.  “You always know...I love you.  Really, George.  Thank you.”

 

She rolled her eyes at that.  It was his purple post-it lunacy all over again.  Still, she hugged him back, patting his shoulder with the fondness of an exasperated sibling.

 

“There's the Mason-weirdness I know,” she said, smiling slightly at him.  He gave her an extra squeeze, and she laughed.  “You're still not off the hook, you know.”

 

She looked back to the store in front of them – going from the signs, a shop named You Say Tomato – and nodded towards it.  When she had caught his attention, she asked, “So...wanna check it out?”

 

He looked at the store, taking in the display and the signs, and suddenly he was laughing.  He released her, but kept an arm looped casually across her shoulders.  He shook his head, a wide grin splitting his face as his laughter continued.

 

“That...that's bloody brilliant, that is!” he said.  He squeezed her shoulders and waggled his brows at her, jerking his head towards the shop.  “C'mon, Georgie, we've got to!  Oh, you think they have Jaffa Cakes?  I haven't had a Jaffa Cake in ages!”

 

– V –

 

They finally made their way back to Kalla's apartment around six, partially because they weren't looking forward to seeing her again and partially because they had trouble finding the building.  An easy banter was flowing between them when they entered the apartment.  Their voices lowered when they noticed Kalla was on the phone.  She turned at their entrance and let out a sigh of what they guessed was relief before motioning for George to come over to her.

 

“Hold on, Rube – they just walked in.  Yeah, here she is,” she said.  She lowered the phone from her ear, covering the mouthpiece as she looked at George.  “It's Rube.  He wants to talk to you.”

 

Oh, _joy._

 

“Heeey, Rube,” she said as she took the phone from her, putting on her best Fonzie voice.  “What's up?”

 

“Good to hear your voice, too, Peanut,” he said, a deep chuckle coming across the line.  She glanced over at Mason, who had cocked a brow at her.  Everything about him, from his expression to his somewhat tense posture, screamed 'What does he want?'.  She rolled her eyes at him and turned her attention back to the phone.  “So, how'd your first out-of-town reap go?”

 

Oh, so _that's_ what this was about.  Really fucking smooth, Rube.

 

“I'm guessing you already know, Rube, so why the hell are you asking me?” she asked, her tone as bitter as she felt.

 

“Because I'd rather hear it from you.  And about that hostile tone of yours...you and Mason giving Kalla trouble, Peanut?” he asked, and she fought the urge to stomp her foot.  That would just be childish, though she had a feeling it would feel pretty damn good right now.

 

“We're not giving her any more trouble than she's already asked for,” she snapped, glaring sullenly at a spot on the wall and imagining it was Rube.  “She fucked up my reap.”

 

“It wasn't her fault and you know it,” he said, his tone cross.  Her eyes lowered, a coil of guilt sliding into her gut.  She hated when he used that angry parent tone.  “Look, I don't mind you two giving me shit – I'm used to it by now.  But Kalla's having a fucked up time lately, and she could use some sympathy on your part.  Be a bit nicer to her, all right?”

 

“What the hell is it to you, Rube?” she asked, but her voice lacked any of its former fire.  He always made her think of her dad when he got like this, which only made her feel like she was five with her hand caught in the cookie jar again.  It wasn't a feeling she was particularly fond of.

 

“I told you: Kalla's a friend.  She used to be part of our group, back before I was head reaper and she got transferred.  She's never had it easy, and this whole mess is just the latest load of shit on her.  So cut her some slack, ok, Peanut?” he asked.  She paused a minute, processing his words and silently agreeing to at least try and be nicer to the reaper in question, when something hit her.  She smiled slightly, ignoring the curious look Mason gave her when he saw her lips twitch.

 

“Thank you, Rube,” she said, her eyes closing as a feeling of appreciation and relief washed through her.

 

“For what?” he asked, and a genuine smile curved her lips at that.  Mason was right: she did miss him, fucked up as that was.

 

“You didn't once ask if the hiccup was my fault,” she said.  That was what had had her stomach in knots all afternoon: that fear that Rube would find out, or that he had told Kalla about her history, and that they...no, that _he_ would blame her (she really didn't give a shit what Kalla thought, but Rube's opinion mattered).  That he hadn't, or that he at least hadn't mentioned it, was like a physical weight being lifted from her shoulders.  He chuckled, and her smile warmed at the sound.

 

“I didn't doubt you once, Peanut,” he said, and there was that strange feeling of gratitude tightening her chest.  “You've come a long way in four years.  I'm proud of you, George.”

 

She didn't know what to say to that, so she said nothing.  She was never good with those sentimentalities, anyway.  Mason was frowning again, his look almost worried as he stood there next to her, so she gave him a reassuring smile.

 

“Hey, put Kalla back on, ok?” Rube asked, and she took a breath.

 

“Sure thing,” she said, turning to look for Kalla.

 

“Oh, and Roxy says hi,” he said, even as she heard Roxy in the background snapping that she didn't.  She laughed.

 

“We miss her too – oh, and tell Kiffany Mason misses her, too,” she said, smirking at the whine Mason let out.  Rube chuckled, and George made a mental note to tell him (and Kiffany) about the bitchy waitress from the Denny's when they got home.  They exchanged goodbyes, and she handed the phone back to Kalla.  As their conversation resumed, she turned back to find Mason still giving her an expectant – if now slightly petulant – look.

 

“So what's the grin for, Georgie?” he asked.

 

“Fuck off,” she said, no real meaning behind the words as she went to the kitchen for some water.

 

– V –

 

Eli had had a hell of a night, truth be told.  They had left work earlier than usual, and he had cooked Maggie her favorite meal (a recipe he had gotten from her mother when she had visited a few months back).  They had spent the night curled on the couch, feeding each other popcorn as they watched an old Jimmy Stewart movie.  She had fallen asleep in his arms, and after an hour he had carried her back into their room and tucked her in.  He had tried to sleep that night – he really had – but he spent most of those hours before dawn lying on his side, watching her sleep.

 

He tried to keep those two visions out of his mind, choosing to focus on her instead, but it was hard.  Though he knew she was, at least for the moment, fine and sleeping peacefully beside him, he couldn't keep the images of her bloody and mangled body from the accident or that spreading patch of crimson on her chest from the gunshot out of his mind.  He wanted to take comfort in the fact that she was ok, at least for now, but he couldn't.  He kept thinking about the coming afternoon (at least, he was choosing to believe it was this coming afternoon; there had been nothing in this second vision, other than the quick glance to his watch, to reveal when this would happen).  He kept thinking about Maggie, and how God seemed so determined to take her from him now that things had finally worked out between them.

 

He kept thinking, and he kept worrying, and he kept feeling that sense of anger swirling deep in his chest.

 

Through the night, he had caught maybe an hour of intermittent sleep – two tops.  He was awake and watching her again when the room started to light with dawn, and he was still awake not long after when the alarm started beeping.  He smiled when Maggie groaned, stirring from her sleep at the incessant noise.  She reached over him, slapping the alarm on his bedside table to shut it up, and snuggled closer, and despite his qualms and darkening mood he chuckled at her.  She cracked an eye open and peeked up at him, smiling sleepily when she saw his grin.  She wrapped an arm around him, hugging him tight.

 

“Good morning,” she said.  “How long've you been up?”

 

“Not long,” he lied.  She was already worried from yesterday, and he had no intention of making that any worse.  If she knew he had been having trouble sleeping, too...

 

He heard a voice in his mind that sounded oddly like a strange mix of Frank and Patti telling him that keeping things from Maggie had been the cause of their problems in the first place.  He told that voice to shut up.

 

“We have to get up,” she mumbled, hiding her face in his chest.  He pulled her closer and smiled.

 

“No, we don't,” he said.  She laughed.

 

“We have to go to work,” she pointed out.  He kissed the top of her head.

 

“We can play hooky,” he said.  She peeked up from his chest, giving him a pointed look.  “Come on...you know you want to play hooky with me.”

 

“You're a _partner_ , Eli.  You can't play hooky,” she said.  He chuckled and sank lower into the mattress.

 

“Exactly, Maggie.  I'm a partner, so I can totally get us the day off,” he said.  He quirked his brows at her, pulling his best puppy eyes.  She laughed, again burying her face in his chest as her body shook with her giggles.  She reached up, pressing a kiss to his cheek.

 

“You are insane, Eli,” she said.  She patted his chest before pushing herself up.  He reached for her again, still pouting, and she swatted his hands away.  He loved the sound of her laugh.  For a moment, it almost made him forget about his worries.  “Eli, stop!  I've been out of town for two weeks – I can't stay out of the office today, too.”

 

He watched her as she walked towards the ensuite, his vision again flitting across his mind once she was out of his sight.  He jumped up and followed her into the bathroom, pausing in the door to lean against the frame.

 

“Why would a day off be so bad again?” he asked, and she glanced over her shoulder to give him an amused look.  He smiled warmly at her.  “Come on...like you said, you've been gone two weeks.  I've missed you.”

 

“And I've missed you, but I was here last night, and I'll be with you at work today, and I'll be here tonight again.  See?  Plenty of time to catch up,” she said as she walked over to him.  She placed her hands on his shoulders and leaned up to kiss him.  His arm instinctively wrapped around her waist, pulling her just a bit closer.  She patted his shoulders and pulled back, her smile never leaving her face.  He didn't understand how she could smile, given what was supposed to happen – but, he reasoned, she didn't really know what would happen, did she?  It's not like he'd told her.  “And again: two weeks.  I've been out of work too long.”

 

“Technically you were away on business, so you never left work, did you?” he asked in a last-ditch effort to make her see reason.  She laughed, but – thanks to the growing knot of worry in his gut – the sound couldn't make him smile this time.

 

“Seriously, Eli, what is your deal?  Why do you want me home so bad?” she asked.  He hesitated, and her jovial mood vanished the instant she became aware of the shift in his eyes.  Her hands slipped lower on his shoulders as her grin flipped into a frown.  She watched him with wary eyes, her look calculating.  He knew that look.  It was the same one she wore when she was trying to figure out some particularly tricky part of a case.  She was trying to pick apart his secrets, but this was one secret he couldn't let her know.

 

Again he heard Frank's voice in his mind, calling him out and telling him she had every right to.  He told the voice to go away.

 

“Does this have anything to do with what you saw yesterday?” she asked, and he forced out a laugh.  He'd be amazed if she bought it.

 

“Don't be ridiculous,” he said, shaking his head.  He was a good liar – he had to be, given his profession.  He just wasn't so great at lying to her.

 

“Eli,” she said, her voice taking on the tone of an exasperated schoolteacher dealing with an especially troublesome child.  A hand moved from his shoulder to cup his cheek, gently turning his face to make him look at her.  “What did you see?  The truth this time.”

 

“Noth-” he started, but she squeezed his cheek as her eyes tightened.

 

“No, Eli,” she said.  “Don't tell me not to worry or that it wasn't anything important.  If you're this worried about it, it obviously is.  So what's going to happen?”

 

He looked down, his gaze boring furious holes into the tile of the bathroom floor.  Again with the feeling that she deserved to know, that she might know a way to help – but then, again, came the feeling of desperate hopelessness.  How could she?  She would be just as stumped as he was, so what good would telling her do?  He would only scare her, and he didn't want that.  So he kept silent, much to her annoyance, but in an equal gesture she just let it go.  She reached up and kissed him, pulling back a breath to whisper against his lips.

 

“Exactly.  So go make us some breakfast so we can get out of here,” she murmured.  “I want eggs.”

 

“Maggie,” he groaned.  Why couldn't she just listen to him, just this once?  Hadn't he proven himself time and again?  When he said something bad would happen, something bad would happen.  Had she learned nothing from the earthquake?  The airplane?

 

...but he hadn't really told her something bad would happen, had he?

 

“Either you tell me what's got you so spooked or you drop it and I go to work,” she said, giving him a pointed look.  He looked to the counter beside them, unable to answer and unable to look at the knowing smirk curling her lips.  “Thought so.  I want my eggs scrambled with cheese.”

 

She kissed him again before nudging him out the door.  He heard her head back towards the shower and turn the water on, heard her going through her morning routine, and he walked almost mechanically towards the kitchen.  He was on autopilot, unsure of how to solve this mess without telling Maggie.  Logically, the answer was simple: if she was going to the office, he had to make sure she stayed in the office from two to three.  He knew how tricky that might prove, given who Maggie was, but now...right now, it seemed like his best option.  He wouldn't tell her what he saw (though he knew he should – probably, as that would be the easiest way to solve this; maybe she'd be more willing to stay home if she knew what leaving the penthouse meant), and she wouldn't listen.  They were at an impasse, one that they wouldn't be getting around this morning.

 

He sighed once he was in the kitchen.  Still running on autopilot, he reached under the counter and pulled out a frying pan.  All right.  Ok.  If she was determined to work today...all right.  He would just have to make sure she didn't go anywhere between two and three, and she'd be safe again.

 

He hoped.

 

– V –

 

Eli spent most of his day distracted.  He stuck close to Maggie, convincing her to help him on a case he had started a few days ago.  They spent the morning catching her up, working straight through lunch as he took her over file after file.  It took longer than it probably should have, given his mind was only half there the entire morning.  If she noticed, she didn't say anything.  She just kept working, asking him the occasional question and spending most of her time reading through files.  They'd be expected in court the next morning, and Maggie wanted to make sure she was familiar enough with the case to be competent.

 

When two o'clock neared, they were still in his office, and he wasn't anywhere closer to figuring out how to stop this new vision.  Well, that was maybe half true.  Glancing at the clock, he figured if he could keep Maggie in the office for the next hour, she'd be in the clear.  That was, of course, assuming the shooting would happen today.

 

He jumped at the knock on his door, and they both looked up to see Taylor Dowd standing by the door.  She nodded at him and said, “Eli, do you have that file I asked for ready yet?”

 

“Taylor!” Maggie cried, jumping up from her chair and going to the door to give Taylor a hug.  The blonde woman laughed, returning the hug as best she could with her rounded stomach.  He groaned and began shifting through the files closest to him.  He'd had it ready that morning, but since then he'd seemed to have...lost it.  Damn it.

 

“Hey, Maggie,” Taylor laughed as Maggie pulled back, the file momentarily forgotten.  “I thought you were getting back soon.  When'd you get in?”

 

“Yesterday afternoon.  How've you and Matt been?  The baby?” she asked, and Taylor smiled as she placed a hand on her stomach.

 

“It's only been two weeks, Maggie,” she said, giving her an amused smile, “but we're both fine.”

 

“Good.  And she's due soon, so two weeks could mean a lot,” Maggie gave her a pointed look as she said this.  “I could've come back to find you'd already delivered!”

 

“We're not that lucky,” Eli quipped, and they laughed – even if Taylor did shoot him a warning glance at his smart remark.

 

“So how's Matt adjusting to daddy mode?” Maggie asked, and Taylor laughed.

 

“Matt's been great.  Eli should take notes, especially since you and Matt are such buddies now.  He'll never hear the end of it if he isn't half as wonderful as Matt is once you're pregnant,” Taylor said.  Maggie laughed at that, waving the comment off.  They were together, yes, and they'd probably be engaged within the year, but he doubted she was even thinking babies yet (after all, she didn't know he had already seen their little one the previous year).

 

“Just what I need,” he muttered darkly.  “Parenting advice from the mythical Daddy Dowd.”

 

The girls laughed at him, but he was serious.  The last thing he wanted was Matt Dowd brow-beating him over what a great father he would be.  He glanced at his watch again, noting the time and reveling in the feeling of relief that washed over him as he realized Maggie was still in the office, when he was again brought out of his worries by their conversation.  They had begun discussing Taylor's latest cravings, a flavor of British potato chips Matt had found in an import store he frequented.  Normally, Taylor commented, she found them disgusting, but the 'little Dowdette' loved them, so she did, too.  She groaned then, leaning back against the door and heaving a dramatic sigh.

 

“Ugh, I shouldn't have started thinking about them,” she said.  “I'd kill for a bag of prawn cocktail crisps right now.”

 

“Why don't you go get some, then?” he asked, ignoring the worry niggling his gut as he finally found the folder she had come in for.

 

“I can't, Eli – I'm swamped.  I only stopped by to get that file from you – thanks, by the way,” she said as he walked over and handed her the folder in question.  He rolled his eyes.

 

“So send Matt,” he said, and she mimicked his gesture.

 

“He's in court all afternoon,” she said.

 

“I could go,” Maggie said, and his world came to a screeching halt as he saw the clock on the wall.  Two o'clock.  _No._

 

“Do you have the time?  You just got back yesterday, so you have to be swamped.  You were out of the office for two weeks,”  Taylor said, and Maggie shot him a grin.

 

“Well, like Eli pointed out this morning: I was away on business, so I technically was in the office,” Maggie gave her a wink, and Taylor laughed.  “Plus, Eli kept me working through lunch, so I could use a run out.”

 

“Well, ok, then.  Do you know where You Say Tomato is?” Taylor asked, and again Maggie nodded.  The trance-like chill that had frozen Eli seemed to drop another hundred and million degrees as Taylor said the name, and he recalled the sign above the store in his vision.  A little store with a green awning, the words _You Say Tomato_ printed beneath the image of a British flag flying over the Golden Gate.  The same store Taylor was trying to get Maggie to run to, the same store where – in twenty-six minutes – Maggie would be shot.  His stomach dropped, settling just below his feet.

 

“Matt took me there a few times when we were working at PK – it's his favorite store,” she said, laughing.  Taylor grinned.

 

“I'm beginning to think that,” she said.  The grin faltered for just a moment.  “Are you sure this won't be too much trouble, Maggie?  I'd hate to think I'm being the over-bearing pregnant associate.”

 

“Taylor, you _are_ the over-bearing pregnant associate – but you have every excuse to be,” Maggie winked at her, and they both started laughing again.  The sound was so foreign to him: he didn't understand how they could laugh when Maggie was one trip out of the office away from...  “Really, it'll be no problem.  I can get you your chips and Eli's and my lunches all in one trip.  He owes me a break anyway, the tyrant.”

 

“Thank you so much, Maggie.  I'll go get you some money,”  Taylor said.  She turned to leave as Maggie nodded, and Eli dumbly shook his head.

 

“What...what just happened?” he asked once Taylor was gone.  Maggie looked at him, her face scrunched in amused confusion.

 

“I just agreed to get Taylor some chips, and I'll be picking up our lunches while I'm out.  Are you ok with sandwiches?” she asked, moving past him to grab her purse from where she'd stashed it under the table hours ago.  “I'll stop at that deli down the street, so I could bring you back a salad instead.  Eli?  Is that ok?”

 

“No!” he said, shaking his head as he snapped out of his daze.  She frowned, holding up her hands in defense at his outburst.

 

“Ok, I'll bring you a sandwich.  Roast beef, right?” she asked, and he shook his head more furiously.

 

“No!” he said again, and she took a step back as her arms crossed over her chest.

 

“Fine, then I won't bring you anything.  You don't have to be so rude about it,” she said, and he brought a hand up to rub his eyes as he took a deep, steadying breath.

 

“That's not what I...I don't care.  Roast beef will be fine – just don't leave yet,” he said, looking back up to her.  Her eyes narrowed, her gaze turning suspicious.

 

“Why not?” she asked.  “You've kept us working all morning – you made us skip lunch.  I know you have to be hungry, too.”

 

“Please, Maggie.  Just go after three.  Please,” he said, and she rolled her eyes.  She shrugged him off and headed towards the door.

 

“You're being ridiculous, Eli.  What is with you today?  Is this about that vision you had?” she asked, but he just looked down, refusing to answer her question (as he'd done since yesterday).  She felt like hitting him, but instead she just continued on her way to the door.  He called out to her again, once more trying to keep her from leaving, and she closed her eyes and took a breath.  “Eli, if you're so worried about me, why don't you come with me?  Then you can see for yourself that I'll be fine.”

 

“Ok,” he said, and she whirled around, her face painted with surprise.  He grabbed his suit jacket and slipped it on, buttoning it up as he walked over to her.  “If you won't listen, ok.”

 

He knew she was surprised he'd agreed so easily, but what choice had she left him?  She wouldn't listen to reason, despite all of the times she'd told him she trusted in him and his visions – despite all of the times he'd proven they all had reason to! – so he'd just have to go with her.  Like she said, if he was with her he could ensure she'd be fine.  He could keep her safe.

 

“Ridiculous,” she muttered under her breath, probably not intending for him to hear, as she turned back towards the door.  Taylor returned just as they were exiting the office, and she handed Maggie the money she'd left for.

 

“That should cover a few bags,” she said.  “Walker's Prawn Cocktail Crisps.”

 

“Got it,” Maggie nodded, giving her a smile.  Taylor gave her a quick hug, something that just...well, freaked Eli out.  Taylor had become a lot more affectionate in her pregnancy – when she wasn't biting people's heads off, that is.

 

“Thanks again, Maggie,” she said.  Maggie laughed and patted her shoulder.

 

“I told you it's no problem.  We'll be back soon,” she said, and they both waved goodbye as they headed towards the elevators.  They stopped at Patti's desk on their way to let her know they were headed out, and then they were off.

 

– V –

 

“I.  Am.  So.  Fucking.  _Bored_ ,” Mason whined from his seat on the back of the pale blue sedan next to her.  She looked at him, raising a brow as high as she could at his antics.  Honestly, going on a reap with Mason sometimes made her feel like she was back to being a younger teenager left to babysit her little sister.  Or babysitting an actual baby – Reggie had always been much better than Mason, even if she had never admitted that at the time (at the time, she was just pissed she was stuck watching her sister; Reggie could have been a little angel and she would've still thought the worst of her).  Instead of giving Mason the courtesy of a response, she turned back to scanning the sidewalk and surrounding street for any high risk factors.  It wasn't quite time yet, but it didn't hurt to be prepared.  Mason reached out and poked her, and as she glanced back to him she wondered where the owner of the car he was sitting on was.  He was going to be in so much trouble if the owner returned before they left.  “George.”

 

She looked at him, somewhat surprised to see a completely serious look his face – well, as serious as Mason could get.  (Which was pretty serious, when he wanted to be.)

 

“I really, _really_ doubt Kalla's gonna fuck up your reap twice in a row,” he said, and she tried to lift her brow even higher (it wasn't really happening, as she was already straining to keep it up).  He did realize what he was saying, right?  He had Kalla pegged as an even bigger fuck-up than himself, and she knew for a fact he'd fucked reaps up a lot more than twice in a row.  Ok, so they weren't the same reap, but that was beside the point.  “Did we really have to show up half an hour early?  We're just hanging about – that can't be normal.  Those shop owners are probably starting to think we're...I dunno, street walkers or something.”

 

'Street walkers'?  Really?  At two o'clock in the afternoon?  Well, she had to give him points for originality.

 

“You could have gone with James on his reap, you know,” she said, referring to the other reaper in Kalla's cell that they had met that morning at breakfast.  Where Nadia was all sunshine and smiles, James had been...moody, sullen, and any other term for generally Really Pissed Off you could think of.  He had spent most of breakfast slouched back in the booth, scowling out the window as he picked at his eggs.  He had said maybe three words total during the whole meal, making George and Mason feel about as welcome as a pandemic of the bubonic plague.  She looked back to Mason to find that distant, cross-eyed look he got when thinking especially hard, and when he shuddered she reckoned he was remembering their moody acquaintance as well.

 

“No, ta, Georgie,” he said, another shiver racing down his spine at the memory.  He had spent the morning thinking James was debating whether or not he wanted to stab him with his bendy straw (and he was quite sure James would have caused serious harm, too; the man seemed cranky enough to be able to murder with bendy straws).  He shrugged, shifting on the hood.  “It wouldn't have been so bad if it was a double-reap again, you know.  But noooo, Miss Kalla had to give me a fucking morning reap, so now I'm stuck here waiting with you for M. Dekker to show his fucking face so we can get the fuck out of Dodge and get back home.”

 

“Are you really _that_ sick of me, Mason?” she asked with a snort, and he grinned at her.

 

“Aw, I'll never get sick of _you_ , Georgie.  You've just been extra extra moody thanks to your fucked-up reap, and I'm bored,” he said.  She gave him another look, her eyebrows soaring once more, and he leaned back on the car he'd taken up residence on.  He began scanning the streets, searching for possible reaps (she guessed).  “So, which of these poor sods do you think is M. Dekker?”

 

“I don't care,” she said, walking over to him and leaning back on the car.  He grinned at her, and she shrugged.  “As long as he shows up, dies, and doesn't get the mess on me, I don't give a fuck who he is.”

 

An easy silence fell between them at that, and after a few moments she checked her watch.  2:23.  She looked up, sifting through the crowds for any likely targets.  She was stumped.  She didn't even see any gravelings hanging about.  She sighed and shoved a hand through her hair, wondering just how she was going to find this M. Dekker and if he'd even give her the courtesy of showing up this time.  She hoped so – she wanted to 'get the fuck out of Dodge' as much as Mason did, hones-

 

“Margaret Anne Dekker, would you just _stop_?!”

 

She jumped at the shout, her mind screeching to a halt as she whirled around.  There, on the other side of the street, right by the crosswalk, was a man and a woman.

 

“What the fuck?” she heard Mason ask as he looked, too, but she wasn't really focusing on him.  The man seemed angry, annoyed at something, and the woman seemed...frustrated.  Confused, but frustrated.  Was this M. Dekker?  Margaret Dekker?  Well, there went all her 'him' comments...  The man said something, to which the woman just shook her head, and they watched as Dekker tried to cross the street – only to have the man grab her arm and pull her back.  George's eyes narrowed on them as she checked her watch: 2:25.  Oh, hell no...

 

They spun around again as a man rushed out of the store in front of them, shouting at someone inside.  He pulled out a gun and fired a few rounds into the shop, causing the people on the sidewalk around them to scream and run for cover.  While everyone else was panicking, the shooter ran off down the street and George whirled around again to find the man across the street had grabbed Dekker and pulled her behind a car on the other side of the street.  George's mouth gaped open as shock and disbelief registered in her system, finally fading to a blind rage as anger filled her.

 

“What the fuck?!” Mason screamed, gawking at the pair.  “She's right fucking there!  Right across the fucking street!  What the fuck?!”

 

George's fists clenched at her sides, her entire body shaking in fury as she watched the two peek out from behind the car.  Dekker leaned back against the man, looking thoroughly shaken as she watched the storefront with wide eyes.  The man watched her, like he was trying to make sure she was ok, and that was when it hit her.

 

She didn't know how, but that man _knew_.  Somehow, he had known exactly what would happen here today, and he had stopped it.  She had a sinking feeling he had even known yesterday, and she was fairly sure he was the reason Dekker had missed her appointment then, too.  She didn't know how – he certainly didn't look or feel like a reaper.  So how?  How did he know to keep Dekker away?

 

Her gut twisted as her breath came hard and fast.  She had found her hiccup.

 

– V –

 

Eli and Maggie hopped in a cab just outside the WSA building, and from there it was a short drive to California Street, where Maggie had said You Say Tomato was located.  There was an accident or roadwork or something causing a backup, so about a block away from their destination they paid the cabbie and climbed out, opting to walk the rest of the way – which was, of course, Maggie's idea.  Eli had spent the entire time glancing at either his watch or the clock in the dash, counting down the minutes and thinking if he could just stall long enough...in his vision, she died at 2:26.  If they were just a few minutes late, getting there at 2:30 or even 2:27, she would be fine.  Right?  So he had been grateful for the traffic, had told her it was no problem and waiting in a cab for a block wouldn't be that bad, but Maggie had been determined.  She wanted to get back to the office, both to get Taylor her chips and to get back to work on their case, and the traffic was only deterring her from that goal.

 

He didn't tell her, but it was also deterring her from her death.

 

So they got out and walked, and Eli was a bundle of nerves the entire way.

 

“We should go back,” he said, and she quirked a brow at him as they neared the intersection.  “Really, Maggie.  Traffic isn't that bad.  We can go back.”

 

“We're almost there now, Eli,” she said.

 

“Well, you wait here, then.  I can go alone,” he said, and she rolled her eyes.

 

“You're being ridiculous, Eli!  I know what Taylor's looking for and where the shop is.  You've never even heard of You Say Tomato before today,” she said, and he bit his lip.  She was right, but he also wasn't the one with a bullet waiting for him at the shop.

 

“At least wait until after three – two-thirty at the earliest!” he said, taking a few quickened steps ahead of her to block her path.  She stopped and gave him an annoyed look as he glanced at his watch again.  2:23.  If he could just stall for three more minutes...

 

“You are being completely irrational now,” she said, her lips pressing together in annoyance.  She pushed past him and went to the crosswalk.  He looked up, and across the street was the green awning from his vision.  _No..._

 

“Margaret Anne Dekker, would you just _stop_?!” he shouted.  He reached out and grabbed her wrist, pulling her back from the crosswalk.  She froze, turning to gape at him.  He shifted, shuffling from foot to foot as he realized what he had just done.

 

“Eli Stone...did you just....did you seriously just full-name me?” she asked, blinking as a dumbfounded look settled over her features.

 

“You weren't listening,” he mumbled, though he knew that was no excuse.  God, who was he, her father?  ...on second thought, he really didn't want to go there.  That was disturbing, even for him.  Her arms folded over her chest, and she watched him with the eyes of a frazzled teacher, one who knew the child she was interrogating was guilty of putting the cherry bomb in the toilet but just wouldn't confess – even though they'd found the matches in his backpack.  Or like the girlfriend who knew her prophet boyfriend had had another vision, one that concerned her in some way, but refused to tell her what exactly he had seen.

 

“Eli, what the hell is going on?” she asked.  He sighed and looked down, refusing to meet her gaze.

 

“You just need to trust me, Maggie.  You can't be anywhere near this store at two-thirty,” he said.

 

“Why?” she asked, but he kept looking at his feet.  He couldn't tell her.  He could barely tell himself.  He didn't want to think about her like that, with that spreading red stain on her tan dress.  She groaned, shaking her head and taking a few steadying breaths.  “What did you see, Eli?”

 

“I didn't see anything,” he lied, and her head snapped up as she glared at him.

 

“Bullshit!” she said, and he jumped at the word.  He gawked at her – Maggie _never_ spoke like that!  “You've been jumpy for days now, Eli – you saw something, and from how you've been acting I'd bet anything it involved me.  And whatever it was, it was bad enough to spook you into acting just...weird, and weirder than normal!  I'm only going to ask you one more time, Eli: _what did you see?_ ”

 

Each word was carefully enunciated, like each monosyllabic word was its own sentence.  He knew she meant it, knew he needed to come clean and just tell her, but...well, he never was the reasonable, smart Stone brother, was he?  (At least he wasn't if you asked Nate.)  So again he tried to tell her it was nothing, and again she told him to stop lying.  She put a hand on his cheek, asking him in her calmest, sincerest voice to tell her, and his resolve crumbled just a little.  If it was the only way to get her to see why she had to get out of here...  He opened his mouth to answer, and then he saw it.

 

The man from his vision running out of You Say Tomato, turning on the spot and raising a gun towards the store.  He acted on instinct, grabbing Maggie and pulling her down behind the car parked off to the side of the crosswalk.  Maggie screamed as they heard the shots ring out, and he pulled her closer against him as he tried to shield her from the world.  She clung to him, shaking as he peeked over the car to see the man running off down the street.  He had done it.  He'd kept her safe again.  She was fine.

 

They stood, Maggie still clinging to him and shaking as she looked around, searching for the cause of panic amongst the chaos.  He barely heard her ask what had happened as he scanned the other sidewalk, because there...

 

He felt the blood drain from his face, his heart nearly stopping as his eyes locked with another pair across the street.

 

There, right there in front of the store, standing calmly amidst the confusion with a furious look upon her face, was the blonde from his visions.


	3. Third Time's the Charm

_They stood, Maggie still clinging to him and shaking as she looked around, searching for the cause of panic amongst the chaos.  He barely heard her ask what had happened as he scanned the other sidewalk, because there..._

_He felt the blood drain from his face, his heart nearly stopping as his eyes locked with another pair across the street._

_There, right there in front of the store, standing calmly amidst the confusion with a furious look upon her face, was the blonde from his visions._

 

Eli was paralyzed, crippled by the blonde's angry glare.  He felt his throat going dry, and he swallowed thickly to try and wet it.  No good.  All he was aware of was that blonde, the death glare on her face, and the man beside her.  The man – who he also recognized from his visions – was saying something to her, an equal look of loathing upon his scruffy face, but Eli didn't think she really heard him, either.  She looked as frozen as him, just a lot angrier and a lot less scared.  He felt a hand on his shoulder, and he jumped as Maggie asked him what he was looking at.

 

That was all it took for his mind to be thrown into action.  He pulled back from Maggie, grabbing her hand and tearing his gaze away from the blonde (he prayed that turning his back on her was a smart move).  He started running, dragging her down the street behind him as every cell in his body screamed at him to run.  Flee.  Get the hell out of there.  Get Maggie safe, away from that girl.

 

“We have to leave – _now_ ,” he said by way of answer to the questions Maggie was tossing his way.  He heard the exasperated noise leave her, but he didn't turn to gauge her expression.  He couldn't look back.  He couldn't risk seeing the blonde following them.

 

“Eli, I still have to get Taylor's chips!” Maggie cried, and he pulled her closer and ran faster.

 

“Maggie, a guy just started shooting at something in the store – do you really think they're going to be selling anything right now?” he asked, looking around frantically.  He pulled her down a side street, thankful for the silence she had lapsed into, and continued to run.  On the other end of the street, he hailed a cab and rushed her inside.  He climbed in behind her, slammed the door, and quickly gave the cabbie the address to the WSA offices.  As they drove off, he turned and looked out the back window to insure the girl hadn't followed them.  There was no sight of her or the man behind them.  They were in the clear.

 

He turned around and sank back in the seat, breathing a sigh of relief.  Maggie was silent, but he could feel her worried eyes on him; he knew he should explain.  Now more than ever she had every right to know what she had just missed, but...he realized he was shaking, and he took another gulp of air in an attempt to calm his frazzled nerves.  It wasn't really helping.  He jumped at the hand he felt her place on his shoulder, and he turned his head to face her.  She seemed calm, almost determined.  He didn't understand.

 

“Was that what you saw, Eli?  Only...only with something happening?  To me?” she asked quietly, like she was trying to hide it from the cabbie.  He had the radio cranked up to an old rock station; Eli doubted he'd be able to hear them either way.  Still, he appreciated it.  He looked at her, wondering if he should really tell her, when his vision flashed before his mind again.  That red stain on her dress, the blonde glaring at him with that murderous look...instead of answering, he pulled her towards him and kissed her hard.  He heard the cabbie clear his throat, but he ignored him.  When he was satisfied that Maggie was fine and ok and really beside him, he pulled back and looked in her eyes, meeting her confused gaze with a solemn one.  He held her cheek in his palm, his thumb brushing just beneath her eye – another little reassurance that she was really there.

 

“I won't let anything happen to you, Maggie.  I won't,” he said.  She didn't answer – she didn't know how.  Something about the way he was acting confirmed her suspicions, and she felt a tiny sliver of fear coil tightly in her stomach at that thought.  What exactly had he seen?

 

The obvious presented itself in her mind, but she didn't want to think about that.  She couldn't think about that.

 

“Go on,” he said, and she frowned in confusion.  What was he...and then he nodded behind her, and she realized the cab had stopped.  She looked behind her to see the WSA building.  She looked back to him, and he gave her one of his fake smiles.

 

“Eli...” she tried, but he shook his head.

 

“Can you ask Patti to reschedule any afternoon appointments?” he asked, and her frown deepened.

 

“Where are you going?” she asked, and he sighed.

 

“I need to talk to Frank,” he said, looking out the window.  Avoiding looking at her.  She laid her hand on his cheek, guiding his face back to hers.

 

“Are you going to be back before the day's over?” she asked, and he shrugged.

 

“I don't know, Mags,” he said, and she rolled her eyes at the nickname.  She wasn't entirely fond of it, to be honest.  That thought left her mind when he kissed her again, and she frowned against his lips.  The gesture was desperate, as if he wasn't sure he'd have another chance to do so.  What on Earth had he seen?  “Stay safe.  Please.”

 

“I love you,” she said, giving him a quick hug.  He held her tight and kissed her neck.

 

“I love you, too,” he said before releasing her.  He watched as she left the cab, and once she was inside the building he turned back to find the cabbie waiting expectantly.  The commercial on the radio ended, the opening strands of “Don’t Fear the Reaper” playing out.  He ignored the chilling feeling creeping up his spine at that.  He wouldn't dwell on it – he couldn't.  He let his head fall back against the seat and sighed.  “I need you to take me to Chinatown.”

 

– V –

 

George heard Mason ranting to her side – he sounded as flabbergasted as she felt over this discovery – but she wasn't really listening to what he was saying.  His shouts stopped, fading away in the cacophony of noise around them, as they watched the man grab Dekker's hand and pull her away.  They watched them run, and George felt her gut twist further.  M. Dekker had once again missed her appointment, only this time she had been right across the fucking street.  What the hell?

 

“Do we follow?” Mason asked, his voice suddenly grave, and if the situation hadn't been so serious she would have laughed.  He sounded like one of those FBI guys on the cop shows, asking his superior if he should pursue the suspect.  God knew what she wanted to tell him (“Don't lose them, Morgan!”), but...well, their victim had been at the scene of the crime and hadn't died.  She had a feeling Dekker would be rescheduled again, if not postponed indefinitely.  She shook her head, her eyes narrowing on the disappearing backs of Dekker and the man, and she felt Mason shift beside her.  She knew she should say _something_ , but she had no idea what.  Not for the first time in her reaper career, she had absolutely no idea what the hell she was supposed to do.

 

She really, really needed to talk to Rube right now...

 

“Was he looking at us?” she heard Mason ask, and she glanced at him to find him still watching the spot where her reap had disappeared.  Mason looked at her, and she thought he looked...worried.  Maybe scared.  “I mean, you saw it, right?  It wasn't just me?  He was looking at us, yeah?”

 

“Yeah, Mason, he was looking at us,” she said, turning back to look across the street.  Her gaze hardened as that thought came back to her.  It was impossible, it had to be, but...  “I think he knew.”

 

“What?!” Mason choked out in a gasp, and she nodded gravely.

 

“I don't know how, but he knew what was going to happen here.  You saw him – he stopped Dekker from coming over here, and I'd bet anything he stopped her from showing yesterday, too.  He's my hiccup,” she said, and Mason shook his head frantically.

 

“But...no!  _How?!_   He wasn't a reaper!” Mason cried, but then he paused as he followed her gaze.  He frowned, his face twisting in confusion.  “...was he?”

 

“No, Mason, he wasn't,” she said, her voice sounding as annoyed as she felt.  She turned and began making her way through the crowd, heading towards where she had left her Mustang parked up the street.  Mason followed, still spouting questions at the impossibility of the situation she found herself in.  She reached back and thwacked him, and he yelped in protest.  She waved him off.  “Shut up, Mason!  I don't know how, ok?  I don't understand any of this any better than you do!  So just shut the fuck up, ok?!”

 

“Georgie...” he started, but they were already at the car and she was again waving him off.  She nodded towards the other seat, and he hopped over the door and into the car.  She started the engine, and when she found a break in traffic she pulled out and started towards the Denny's.

 

“I need to see Kalla,” she said, and he snorted.

 

“You really think she's going to be able to fix this?  She can't even –” he started, and she shook her head.

 

“She has to have some clue,” she said.  “For all we know she's already got Dekker's rescheduled post-it, just like yesterday.  And if she knew about this beforehand and didn't warn me...”

 

“Yeah?” Mason asked, that ear-splitting grin curving his mouth again.

 

“I'm going to fucking kill her,” she said, her grip tightening on the steering wheel.  Mason laughed, clapping as he fell back in his seat.

 

“That's my Georgie girl!” he cheered, but she wasn't in the mood for his quips right now.  Traffic had thinned considerably in their time outside the shop, so it wasn't long before she was pulling into a space outside the Denny's.  She parked quickly and made her way into the restaurant, Mason hot on her heels.  He was practically bouncing behind her, giddy in his eagerness to see her yelling at Kalla again (she was telling herself she wouldn't – she had promised Rube to go easier on her), and he was annoying the hell out of her.  A quick scan of the room showed Kalla sitting with James in what she guessed was their regular booth, as it was the same one they had been in that morning.  She wondered if Kalla had ever left, but considering she was supposed to be tracking down those two lost souls, George really hoped she had.

 

She paused at that thought.  Could that man have been one of Kalla's souls?  But no...he couldn't have been, could he?  Would he have a corporeal body yet?  And why would Dekker act like she knew him if he was?  And if he was, why hadn't he felt like a reaper?  Even when she had been just a few days into this undead life, other reapers had been able to immediately tell she was the new kid.  She shook her head, immediately clearing the thought.  That was as impossible as the man knowing Dekker would die at the shop that afternoon, and yet...

 

“Hi-dee ho,” Mason said, waving at Kalla and James before sliding into the empty side of the booth.  George sat down next to him as James stood.  She arched a brow at him, but he was scowling at Mason.

 

“I'm out,” he said, pausing just long enough to toss a crumpled five on the table.  Mason watched him go, waving at his back.

 

“You're my favorite, too!” he called, and when the door had closed behind James he turned, slumped in the booth, and folded his arms over his chest.  “Wanker.”

 

“So, how was the reap?” Kalla asked, choosing to ignore Mason and shooting George a smile that could rival Daisy's, all bright and false sincerity.  She couldn't really say that, though.  For all she knew, Kalla wanted her to be as successful in this reaper business as Rube did.  She just didn't like her.  So, without any explanation, she held her hand out.

 

“Can I have my new post-it now?” she asked, and her gaze hardened when Kalla's face scrunched in confusion.  No way was she letting her play the clueless card...  “Don't fuck with me, Kalla.  You had to know the reap was hiccupped again.  You knew yesterday.”

 

“What the hell are you talking about?” Kalla asked, and George paused.  She didn't want to think that it was possible Kalla didn't know.  She had known yesterday, but...well, they had waited three hours before telling her yesterday.  The missed reap today had only happened maybe twenty minutes ago.  “Your reap didn't show again?”

 

“Oh, she showed,” Mason snorted, and George thwacked him to shut him up.  He gave her a reproachful look, but she just shook her head.

 

“No way in hell you don't know,” she said, glaring at Kalla.  “So where the fuck is my post-it, Kalla?”

 

“Well, of course she don't know,” Mason said, snorting, and they both shot him looks.  “She's a fuck-up, innit she?”

 

Kalla leveled him with a glare, leaving George to think she was just about at the end of her line when it came to tolerating Mason's continual barbs.  George jabbed her elbow into his side, and Mason turned his own glare on her.  With a nod towards Kalla, he said, “Georgie, think about it.  She's lost two fucking souls already, and now she's given you two consecutive hiccup reaps.  How's that _not_ being a fuck-up?”

 

“You can't control hiccups,” she said, and Kalla snorted.

 

“You did,” she muttered, and George's head whipped around to shoot a murderous look at her.

 

“You can't control hiccups,” she repeated, her voice steady and firm, “but that doesn't mean Mason's wrong about you being a fuck-up.”

 

“Look, just cut the crap and tell me exactly what happened, and I mean _exactly_.  I want details,” Kalla said, and George wanted to scoff at her.  What was this, some thirteen-year-old slumber party/first date recap?

 

“On what?  The gunman that I'm guessing was supposed to kill Dekker or the man that somehow knew Dekker would die and kept her from crossing the street?  Oh, yeah – I also found your hiccup,” she spat, and Mason grinned at Kalla.

 

“That's 'cause my Georgie-girl reaps better than you,” he said, and they both shot him looks.  He slunk lower in the booth and glared back.  “Just trying to help...”

 

“What about this hiccup, now?  You say some guy kept Dekker from coming to the site?” Kalla asked, looking back at her.  She nodded, her head turning to look out the window at the cars passing by on the road outside the Denny's.

 

“Yeah,” she finally said, her voice going distant as she recalled the man and the way he had watched her.  “I don't get it.  He looked at us like he knew what was going to happen.  Like he knew Dekker would die.  He was trying to stop her from crossing the street, and then after the guy with the gun ran off he was just watching us.  I don't know how, but he knew.”

 

“Do you...you don't think he's one of the souls I've been looking for, do you?” Kalla asked.  Her voice sounded hopeful, and if George hadn't been so pissed – or maybe if George was just a nicer person – she would have been kinder, gentler about it.  As it was, George wasn't, and Kalla was pissing her off – so any niceties went straight out the window.

 

“Oh, give us a fucking break!” Mason scoffed, looking at Kalla like she was the stupidest person, undead or alive.  George's eyebrows soared at him, but he wasn't paying her any attention.  He continued on his rant, glaring at Kalla all the while.  Fighting her battles for her.  If she was that sort of girl, George might find it sweet.  Instead it was just kind of annoying.  “We were sent to help with your reaps while _you_ take care of _your_ fuck-up – now you're telling us we're supposed to be on the lookout for your lost souls, too?  No fucking way!  Absolutely no fucking way!  Tell you what, darling.  You stop giving George fucked-up reaps, maybe we'll think about it – but right now that's your shit to deal with, not ours.  But since you asked, no – he wasn't a fucking reaper.  So sorry, but you lucked out.”

 

“Shut the fuck up, Mason – I don't need defending!” she snapped, and Mason paused before snorting and turning his head back towards the window.  He mumbled something she couldn't quite catch, and she looked back towards Kalla.  “He's right, though.  That's not our shit to deal with.  And yes, I did consider it, but like Mason said: this guy's very much alive.  Which brings me back to my initial question: how the hell did he know what would happen today?”

 

Kalla didn't answer.  She looked down into her tea, seemingly retreating into herself as she considered what they had told her.  Her grip tightened on the mug, and her eyes closed as she sighed.  George almost felt bad for her, but like Mason had said: this was all because of _her_ initial fuck-up, and she was getting sick of things.  They sat in a tense silence a moment or two longer before Kalla finally spoke.

 

“Upper management hasn't contacted me yet about any of this,” she said.  George sighed and looked towards the center of the restaurant, watching the waitresses move about their tables.

 

“So what do I do, then?  Just let Margaret Dekker go?” she asked, and Kalla nodded.

 

“Until I hear otherwise, I think we'll have –” she stopped as a hand slapped down on the table before George, and they all looked up to see James standing beside her with an impassive look on his face and a hand stuffed in his pocket.  He withdrew his other hand, and George glanced at the table to find another post-it before her.

 

M. Dekker.

1 Ferry Building.

Shop #13 – Golden Gate Meat Company.

E.T.D. 4:32 P.M.

 

“Someone left that on your windshield, blondie,” he said, and George scowled at him.  “Figured I'd better bring it in before it blew away or someone else got their hands on it.”

 

“It was left on her fucking windscreen?” Mason asked, looking from the post-it to James.  James gave him an unimpressed look, and Mason scoffed.  “How fucked up are you _San Fran_ reapers?  Who the fuck knows how long it would've taken George to get out to her car?”

 

“Which is why I brought it in,” James said.  “And if you hate our city so much, no one's keeping you here.”

 

“I'm not leaving without George,” Mason said, his tone fiercely protective and his eyes glaring bloody murder at the other reaper.  George rolled her eyes.

 

“Fuck off, Mason,” she said, her tone distracted as she read over her post-it.  “Thanks, James.”

 

“Seems she couldn't care either way whether you stayed or not,” James said, smirking at Mason.  Mason scowled, and George knew she should step in (she did care, actually – and Mason knew that, but that's just how they were), but she wasn't in the mood to stop a testosterone match right then.  James nodded at her, acknowledging her thanks, and left.  She looked up at Kalla.

 

“Where is this?” she asked, showing her the post-it.  Kalla studied the address for a second before looking back to her.

 

“That's a bayside market not too far from here,” Kalla said, and George nodded.  She glanced at her watch before scooting out of the booth.  Mason followed, but she stopped when Kalla told her to wait.  They looked at her as she stood, throwing some bills down on the table.  “I'm coming with you.”

 

“Why?” George asked, cutting Mason off before he could say anything else to piss their temporary boss off.  Kalla arched a brow high in skepticism.

 

“You're kidding, right?  Someone has to make sure Mr. Hiccup actually exists,” she said, and George felt the rush of anger bristle her.  Mason glanced at her, worried at the stormy expression on her face.

 

“Why the fuck would I make him up?” she asked through gritted teeth, and Kalla's eyebrow soared even higher.

 

“You're serious?  It's not like you haven't done it before, George,” she said, and George felt her hand fist at her side.  “Yeah, Rube did tell me about that.  So I ask you: how can you expect me to trust you?”

 

“Fuck you!” George screamed, not even noticing how the restaurant stilled at her outburst.  She didn't even notice the waitress from the previous night glaring at her, but probably wouldn’t have cared if she had.  She was shaking in her rage, her hands clenched in tight fists at her sides and her arms itching to throw them into Kalla's waiting face.  “I learned my lesson, Kalla!  I don't do that shit anymore!  Who the fuck do you think you are?  You better back the fuck off – Rube trusts me, and that's what matters.  I don't give a fuck what you think, and there's no way in hell I'm letting you come with us.  I'll handle this!”

 

She snatched her post-it off the table and turned on her heel, storming out of the restaurant without another word.  Mason lingered behind, his gaze darting between her and Kalla.  He hesitated, and then he heard George honking from the parking lot.  He looked back at Kalla, who looked completely stunned at George's tirade.  He chewed his lip for a moment before nodding towards the door.

 

“You've got it all wrong, Kalla.  George's one of the best fucking reapers I've ever seen, and you best remember that.  She's not causing these hiccups.  She's not,” he said, and Kalla stared at him for a long moment.  They stood there, sizing each other up, until the door opened and George stepped back in.

 

“Mason!  Are you coming or not?!” she snapped, and Mason nodded at Kalla before running after her.  Kalla followed him, stopping outside the door as she watched them drive away.  She almost smiled as George flipped her off on their way out of the parking lot.

 

“What are you going to do?” she jumped at the voice and turned towards the door, where James was leaning against the wall by the trashcan, a cigarette held loosely in his hand.  He brought it to his lips and took a long drag, giving her a calculating look.  She sighed and looked back towards the direction the Seattle reapers had disappeared.

 

“I'm going to give them a head start, and then I'm following,” she said.  James arched a brow at her, and she shook her head.  “I don't care what George says, and I don't care what Rube thinks: she has a history, and that history means she can't be trusted.  I have to make sure these hiccups are legit.”

 

James dropped his cigarette and stepped on it, grinding it into the sidewalk to extinguish it.  He looked up at Kalla and asked, “Want some company?”

 

Kalla shrugged, and he took that as her way of saying yes.  Another few minutes passed, and then he was following her to her car, an old, faded blue Toyota.  They climbed in, the silence remaining between them as Kalla drove off.  Kalla's eyes stayed focused on the cars ahead of her, but her mind continued to travel back to George and Mason.  There was no way this was really happening.  There couldn't be.  Reaps just don't hiccup twice in a row, and regular people just don't know how to stop them.  George had to be involved.  She had to be.

 

At least that's what Kalla kept telling herself, because otherwise...otherwise, there was someone out there – someone alive – who knew what they were.  Who was trying to stop them.  And that...well, she didn't want to think about what that would mean.  She couldn't.

 

– V –

 

Frank looked up as the bell above the door jingled, ready to shove aside the worry that had plagued him since Eli's visit two days ago and slip into his Dr. Chen persona for whoever had just entered his shop.  Dr. Chen fell away, the worry immediately sliding back in with a profound sense of relief as he saw Eli standing just inside the door.

 

“Bro, I thought you fell of the face of the Earth,” he said, his voice joking as he smiled at Eli.  It was something he'd taken to saying whenever Eli and he had a disagreement over something, going back to a night a few months ago when Eli had been rifling through his music collection.  Eli had found a copy of a tobyMac CD – _Portable Sounds_ – and had bagged up, asking how he had gone from CCR to Christian rap (it had been a secret of his, a guilty pleasure: he was a closet tobyMac fan).  Usually, referencing the song proved to be a great tension-breaker after one of their fights, but this time...Eli looked up, and he knew it wouldn't be that easy.

 

Eli's face was tortured, dazed, and a lead weight dropped into Frank's stomach.  Had it happened, then?  Had Maggie...?  He put the pen he'd been writing with down, his frown turning deeper as he considered his friend.  He looked like hell.  He called his name, but Eli didn't respond – at least not immediately.  He continued to stare at the floor, his eyes chasing thoughts locked in his mind as his head made slight jerks back and forth.

 

“I don't know if I can stop this,” he finally said, his voice catching at choking out the rest of his words.  He swallowed thickly, and that weight in Frank's stomach sunk lower.

 

“What happened?” he asked, his voice hesitant.  “Is Maggie ok?”

 

“I had another vision,” Eli said.  He sounded guilty – looked it, too, as he shoved his hands in his pockets.  He was still staring at the floor, but Frank had a feeling he wasn't seeing the tile and rugs at all.  “Yesterday, right after Maggie got back.  And it happened again.  And...I didn't tell you everything the first time.  I thought I had, but then I had the second vision, and then just now...”

 

“What are you talking about, Eli?  Is Maggie ok?” Frank asked, and Eli let out a laugh as nervous and helpless as he looked.

 

“She's fine, she's fine...but I can't stop this,” he said.  He finally looked up, and the look in his eyes terrified Frank.  He'd never seen his friend look so hopeless before.  “I can't stop _them_.”

 

“Them?” he asked, and Eli nodded.  He nodded back towards the Needle Room, and Eli followed as he headed inside.  Once there, Eli took a seat and hunched over, folding his arms on his knees and burying his head between them.  His voice was muffled when he spoke, but he told Frank about the second vision.  He told him about Maggie being shot outside that store, and how he had tried to convince her to stay home today.  How he had then tried to keep her in the office, figuring if she wasn't anywhere near that store the vision couldn't come true.  How Taylor had talked Maggie into getting those stupid chips for her, and how Maggie had all too willingly agreed since he'd made them skip lunch.  How he'd tried to slow her down, how they'd been across the street when the shots rang out, and finally how he had seen that couple glaring at him from across the way.

 

“I saw them in my first vision, too, and yesterday at the accident.  They were outside the building, and the girl stuck around for at least two and a half hours afterwards.  She was waiting for Maggie, Frank – just like she was waiting for her today,” he said.  Frank bit his lip, looking down as he considered what Eli was telling him.

 

“What did they do in the visions?” he asked, and Eli shrugged.

 

“The guy stayed in the background for the most part, but the girl touched Maggie.  She walked by her and touched her arm, but there was this glow when she did,” he said.  Frank could hear the frown in his voice, and he understood why: he was frustrated just hearing it, so he could only imagine how Eli felt having seen all this.  “They have something to do with Maggie's death, I just know it – but I don't know _what_.  And I can't figure it out, and that's my job!  I'm supposed to be able to figure these things out!”

 

“‘The heart is deceitful above all things and beyond cure.  Who can understand it?’” Frank asked, and Eli looked up to arch a brow at him.  He shrugged weakly and smiled at him, the gesture just as unsure.  “Jeremiah seventeen.  You're a good lawyer, Eli, and you're good at figuring things out when it comes to solving your cases and helping people, but you aren't perfect.  You don't always get it, and when you're so close to the subject you really can't expect to.  You love Maggie, and that impairs your judgment.”

 

“Spiritual guide strikes again,” Eli muttered, and Frank chuckled.  He shrugged.

 

“Just trying to keep it real, bro,” he said, and – despite his dismal mood – Eli laughed.  “So, other than their being at both accident sites and in your visions, and the touching thing, any other reason to think they're the ones responsible for Maggie's impending doom?”

 

He hoped if he kept the topic light-hearted it would alleviate some of the tension in the room.  It wasn't really working.

 

“There was something, in the first vision.  The girl was holding a post-it, and it had Maggie's name and the time on it – and the address to WSA.  It seemed weird, but I just figured it was God's way of letting me know when it would happen.  There was no post-it in the second vision, at least that I saw,” he explained, his gaze going distant again as he recalled what he had seen.

 

“And you said you saw them today.  Do you know who they are?  Did you talk to them?” Frank asked, and Eli's gaze snapped back to him with a wide-eyed look.

 

“Are you nuts?  I think they're trying to kill Maggie, so I just walk over to them with her?  I got her out of there as fast as I could,” he said, and Frank sighed.  Eli had a point, but he couldn't help but think talking to these people might be their best option for figuring these visions out.  “Great idea, Frank.  Deliver Maggie gift-wrapped to her would-be murderers.”

 

“But you've already said that they aren't the ones who kill her in the visions.  A car crash in the first and a gunshot in the second.  The only involvement they had was the girl touching Maggie's arm,” Frank pointed out.  Eli continued to watch his shoes, but whether he was unsure on how or what to answer Frank wasn't sure.  “Do you think going back in will help?  Give you a chance to see things a second time, figure out exactly what their involvement is?”

 

Eli hesitated just a moment before nodding.  Going back into the visions never hurt before, had it?  He stood and walked over to the table, hopping up and lying back without verbally confirming the decision to do this.  Frank gave him what he hoped was a reassuring smile before he went to get a needle.  He told Eli to relax, to concentrate on the latest vision, and then he tapped the needle into his forehead.

 

Eli was almost scared to open his eyes.  Instead of music, he heard voices – like he was in a crowded room.  Just above the voices, lightly playing with a tinny sound that reminded him of poor-quality speakers, he could hear BÖC.  He took a deep, steadying breath and opened his eyes – only to find he wasn't in a vision, or at least one of his original visions.  He recognized the room as the section of Ferry Building Marketplace reserved for Golden Gate Meat Company.  It was one of Maggie's favorite markets.  A shudder raced through him as he realized this.  If this was a vision, he was seeing something entirely new – something that, aside from the Nurhachi sessions, hadn't happened with acupuncture before.  He didn't understand it – he knew they hadn't used Nurhachi to bring this on – and it scared him, just a bit.  He thought back to the aneurysm, wondering if this would cause it to rupture or spring another one on him again, but any worries towards his medical condition dropped when he spotted Maggie, only to be replaced by an entirely new set when he noticed the girl she was talking to.

 

The blonde from the first two visions, from the street.  He was too far away to hear what they were saying, but that didn't keep him from calling out Maggie's name.  The blonde glanced up at him, her eyes tightening just a bit before she turned back to Maggie.  Her smile was back in place, as if she hadn't noticed him at all.  He began making his way towards them as the blonde took Maggie's hands in her own, shaking them firmly as she said goodbye.  He saw the same golden glow, a mist almost, slip from Maggie's hands and onto the blonde's, and his gut twisted as he continued pushing through the crowd.  He had to get to her.  He had to get her out of here.

 

He watched as the blonde turned, glancing at something in her hand as she went.  He strained around the crowd and noted another post-it, this one set for 4:32 P.M.  His gut twisted further; when?  Today?

 

Raised voices, louder than the rest, pulled him from his musings and he turned to see two butchers arguing behind the counter.  The butcher closest to the chopping block bristled at something the other said, and as the other turned away he reached for the cleaver beside him.  He flung it towards him, shouting at him, but the other butcher turned in time for the cleaver to sail clean past his head – and lodge itself into the back of Maggie's.  His stomach dropped out of him as he screamed, but when he took a step towards her he found himself flying up from the table in the back of Frank's store.

 

He was still screaming, even as he felt Frank grabbing his shoulders to steady him and heard Frank calling to him, trying to calm him.  He couldn't even see the Needle Room anymore.  His mind was focused, locked on the image of the blood pouring around the blade of that cleaver as it protruded from Maggie's....oh, God, _not again_...  His gut twisted and lurched, and Frank – recognizing that look on his face – quickly raced to grab the trashcan by the door.  He made it back just in time for Eli to grab it as his stomach released its minimal contents into the bin.  He could feel Frank rubbing his back, a gesture that took him back to when he was twelve and had the flu and Nate had stayed up all night with him to make sure he was all right.  He gasped in breaths, his eyes closing as he waited for any subsequent heaves, and when he was in the clear he felt himself coughing as he lowered the trashcan.  He could feel Frank giving him a questioning look, but he just shook his head, his eyes still closed.

 

“What...” he coughed again, trying to clear his throat against the taste of sick.  Frank left for a minute, and then he felt him taking the bin from him and shoving a glass of something – water – into his hand.  He took a swig to rinse his mouth out, spitting it into the bin before taking a deep drink to clear his throat.  He tried again.  “What time is it?”

 

“What did you see?” Frank asked, and he looked up to give him what he hoped was a warning look.  He imagined he just looked like he felt: terrified.  Frank frowned, but instead of pressing his point he glanced at his watch.  “3:50.  Why?”

 

Eli still didn't answer, instead pulling out his cell and punching in the speed dial for Patti's phone at the office.  Frank asked again, pressing him to tell him what he saw, but Eli just waved him off.  The phone rang twice before Patti answered.  He breathed a sigh of relief at her voice.

 

“Patti, I need to talk to Maggie,” he said, his voice probably harsher than he intended.  “It's important.”

 

“Maggie left early,” Patti said, and Eli felt his blood run cold.  “She said something about hitting the Ferry Building market to get some groceries for dinner tonight.  She was hoping to get you to loosen up after you've been all crazy today.”

 

“Damn it!” Eli snapped, and he could practically see Patti freezing on the other end.

 

“Eli, what's going on?  She's right: you have been acting crazy today.  Well, crazier than usual – and that's pretty crazy,” she said.  Her voice went quieter.  “Maggie told me about the shooting at that store.  Did you really see her dying today, Eli?”

 

“No, Patti,” he said, and he heard her huff out an aggravated breath.

 

“Don't you lie to me, Eli Stone!” she snapped, and he groaned as he fell forward, placing his head in his hands.

 

“Later, Patti.  I need to talk to Maggie.  I'll just call her cell,” he said.

 

“Good luck with that – she left it here,” Patti mused, and his eyes snapped open and narrowed at the wall.

 

“ _What?_ ” he asked, and Patti sighed.

 

“She left her phone in your office, and by the time any of us realized it she was already gone.  I don't think she knows, yet, since she hasn't been back for it,” she said, and Eli cursed again.  “Eli, what on Earth is wrong with you?”

 

“I have to go,” he said, snapping the phone shut as she called his name.  He'd get hell for that later, he knew, but there were more important issues he had to deal with right now.  Issues like keeping Maggie alive.

 

“Eli, what happened?  What did you see?” Frank asked as he shoved his phone back in his pocket.  He had to leave – _now_.  Ferry Building wasn't too far from here, an eight minute cab drive – ten at most.  And it was 3:50.  He could make it there by 4:32.  He had to.  “Eli!”

 

“I had another vision, Frank,” he snapped, hopping down from the table.  Frank frowned, confusion crinkling his brow.

 

“ _What?_   But...how?  The acupuncture helps you revisit visions, not give you new ones!” he said, and the underlying message was clear: he didn't do the Dark Truth.  They didn't go anywhere near Nurhachi's technique anymore.  So how…?

 

“I don't know!” he snapped, and at Frank's startled look he paused.  He took a deep breath, rubbing his hands along his face.  He took a moment to calm himself before he looked back to his friend.  “I don't know, Frank.  But I saw a new vision, and it was bad.  And if I don't get to the Ferry Building market by four-thirty, Maggie's going to die.”

 

“Can you call her?” Frank asked, and Eli shook his head.

 

“Patti said she left her phone at the office,” he said.  He gave Frank a pleading look, and Frank swallowed thickly before nodding.

 

“Go,” he said, and Eli nodded once before racing out of the shop.  A moment later he was outside, and a moment after that he was sliding into the back of a cab.  He told the cabbie where to take him before the man could even ask, but the driver paused as he watched him.

 

“You ok, man?” the cabbie asked, and Eli groaned.  He wished people would stop asking him that.

 

“Just get me to Ferry Building.  It's very urgent,” he said, and without another word the cabbie took off.  They drove in silence, Eli continuously glancing at the clock in the radio dash.  About a minute after he had climbed in, the oldies station the cabbie was tuned to began playing that song he was beginning to hate with every fiber of his being.  He asked the driver to turn it off, his voice snappier than he intended, and, after tossing a strange look his way, the cabbie acquiesced.  His head flopped back against the seat with a groan.  His body was a jumble of nerves.  About four minutes after climbing in, he felt the cab begin to slow until it was traveling along at a crawl.  His head snapped up and he looked around to find they were in the middle of a traffic jam.

 

Great.  Just friggin' great.

 

“What's going on?” he asked, and the cabbie shrugged.  He gestured to the sea of cars before them.

 

“Looks like an accident, plus normal afternoon traffic.  Nobody's really moving.  Sorry, buddy.  Hope that urgent wasn't too urgent,” the cabbie quipped, but the sympathetic look he gave him was sincere enough that Eli didn't say anything.  Eli groaned and slouched forward, burying his face in his hands.  He missed the concerned look the driver shot him.  “Hey, really.  You ok?”

 

“No.  No, I'm not,” Eli sighed.  He wasn't, but it wasn't like he could tell the man _why_.  He'd be sectioned before he could even get close to Ferry Building.  He glanced at his watch, feeling like he'd be sick again as he noticed the time.  4:15.  He had seventeen minutes to get to the market, and he was halfway there at best.  He looked up, glancing at their surroundings.  He couldn't risk this – he'd have to try.  He dug out his wallet, pulled out some cash, and threw it into the front seat.  He called back to the cabbie as he opened his door, telling him to keep the change, and a moment later he was out of the cab and running down the sidewalk.

 

He prayed to a God he wanted to scream at, begging Him to let him make it to Maggie in time.

 

– V –

 

George was still pissed a few hours later.  They had gone straight to the location indicated by the post-it after leaving the Denny's, and they had been waiting there – a large building called Ferry Building Marketplace – since.  They had walked around a bit, catching lunch at a small café near the shop M. Dekker was supposed to die in.  The shop they were supposed to be in turned out to be a butcher's: Golden Gate Meat Company.  They were leaning against a wall placed between the entrance to the butcher's and the store next to it, a fish place.  If George hadn't been so focused on looking for her reap, she imagined her stomach would be rolling at the combined scents of raw fish and meat.

 

She glanced down at her watch, noting the time.  4:28.  Four minutes for Dekker to show up, have her soul reaped, and die, and, George thought darkly, she better damn well die this time.

 

“See her yet?” George asked Mason, looking up from her watch to give another glance around the surrounding shop.  Mason shook his head, pushing out a breath as he shoved his gloved hands in his pockets.  He glanced down at his jacket, frowning as he took a hand out to pick some dust off the collar.  He brushed against the fabric, the attached buttons rattling with the movement, before tucking the hand back in his pocket and taking another look around.

 

“Nope,” he said, and she groaned as her head slumped to the side, landing on his shoulder.  He looked down at her, offering her an encouraging grin.  She didn't feel very encouraged by the gesture, but she supposed it was the thought that counted.  “So, you think you'll actually get her soul this time?”

 

George didn't answer right away.  Her gaze had drifted to one of the red, funneled lights hanging above the counter, in front of the cheery painted sign that read 'Butchers by the Bay'.  Holding onto the light's cord, feet firmly planted against the glass (which she would have figured would have burned the guy by now, if they hadn’t always seemed so impervious to everything), was a graveling.  She watched as it looked around, chittering as it searched for some mayhem to cause.  It looked once in her direction, scowling at her before it leapt off the lamp and scurried off behind the counter.  A part of her mind was reassured by its presence: it was the first time she'd seen one on this trip, and that made her think the reap might actually go off this time.

 

“I better,” she said, choosing to interpret the graveling's scowl as a look of conspiratorial loathing.  Its ire was directed at that man, just like hers was – for once they were true co-conspirators in Death's game.  They would both be kicking that guy's ass if he interfered again.

 

“You ok, Georgie?” he asked, and she looked up at him to find his grin had vanished to be replaced by a look of concern.  He actually looked worried about her, and she almost felt guilty for that.  She was a big girl, and an undead big girl at that – she could handle this.  “Really.  You can be straight with me.  You know that.  Are you really ok?”

 

“No,” she finally said, sighing as her eyes slipped closed.  She turned her head, burying her face in his jacket as she took a deep breath that reeked of stale booze and other things she wasn't sure she'd want to identify.  The scent was undeniably Mason, and somehow that made her feel just a bit better.  “This is just fucking ridiculous.  Who the hell is skipped and rescheduled _twice_ in a row?  And who the hell was that guy, and how the fuck did he know to stop Dekker from crossing the street?”

 

“No fucking clue, darlin', but I'm blaming Kalla,” Mason said, nodding in a way that would have made her laugh if she was in a better mood.  He leaned his head back against the dividing wall, sighing as he looked at the green and gold Ferry Plaza Seafood sign.  “Rube wouldn't let this happen.  Can't stand the guy, but you gotta give him that: he would never let shit like this happen.”

 

“But he trusts Kalla,” she pointed out.  It was her last argument, her last line of reasoning as to why she shouldn't deck the San Franciscan reaper.  Rube trusted Kalla, and she trusted Rube, ergo she trusted Kalla.  A = B = C, or  whatever.  Never failed her before.

 

“Yeah, but George, how long's it been since he's seen her?  Since he's worked with her?  Can he really trust her anymore?  For all he knows she went downhill in their years apart,” Mason said, and she had to admit he had a point.  Still, she was clinging to her logic.  A = B = C and all that shit.

 

“I don't care, Mason.  I really don't.  I just want this reap done,” she said, her eyes closing as she adjusted her head on his shoulder.  She missed the smile he shot her before he turned back to scan the crowd for her reap.  Raised voices to the side made her crack an eye open, and behind the counter she saw the graveling sitting before two butchers, smirking and snickering as they began arguing over something she was sure it caused.  As their argument escalated, she felt Mason straighten and wiggle his shoulder, trying to catch her attention.

 

“Oi, over there,” he said, nodding towards the crowd.  She turned and saw Dekker moving towards them.  She grabbed a number from the counter before moving closer to them to wait her turn.  George glanced at her watch: 4:31.  She nodded and began walking towards Dekker, and then she heard it.

 

“MAGGIE!”

 

Her head jerked up, her jaw dropping in enraged disbelief as she saw the man from earlier running towards them.  Her hand was frozen, half-way to Dekker's arm.  Dekker turned towards the man, who wasn't even looking at her.  He had locked eyes with George, and again George had the feeling the man knew more than he should.  When he saw her, a surge of panic flooded his eyes as all color drained his face.

 

“Eli?” she heard Dekker – Maggie? – call, but then she felt Mason wrapping his arms around her and pulling her back as he shouted at her to duck.  The man – Eli – crashed into Maggie, pushing her back towards them just as she saw a meat cleaver sail past where Maggie's head had just been.  It lodged itself in Eli's shoulder, and he screamed as he stumbled forward, his momentum and the impact from the cleaver causing him to fall to the ground.  Maggie pushed herself to her knees beside him, screaming as she saw the knife sticking in his shoulder.  More screams and shouts sounded as the crowd around them took in the scene, and George shot a quick glance back behind the counter.  The two butchers were gawking, wide-eyed and terrified as they realized what they had caused, and then there was the graveling between them, shouting and gesturing and hopping in its rage as it snarled at the couple on the ground.

 

Her gaze turned back to where Maggie was panicking over Eli, and she heard someone shout for an ambulance even as she saw others whipping out their phones to make the call.  She felt Mason's grip on her tighten, and it was then she realized she was shaking furiously as her head moved back and forth in disbelief.  She watched as Eli looked up to Maggie, presumably to tell her he'd be fine, when again he saw her.  His eyes narrowed in a glare, but the look had nothing on hers.

 

“What the fuck?!  How the hell did this happen _again?!_ ” Mason asked from behind her.  She shook her head, her body still quaking in rage; she had no idea.  No fucking clue, but she was pissed.  She saw a couple of paramedics rushing up – how the hell had they gotten here so quickly? – and then they were escorting Eli away, Maggie following close behind.

 

Three attempted reaps.

 

Three fucking hiccups.

 

What the hell?!

 

“So how are you going to fix this?” a voice to their side asked, and George was snapped out of her rage as she saw Kalla move out of the crowd to stand before them.  She didn't look impressed.  She looked about as pissed as George felt.

 

“Fuck off!” Mason snapped, his eyes narrowed in a glare.  “Georgie didn't sign up for this – it's not her fault your clerical system is so fucked up!”

 

Kalla's glare shifted to him, but George spoke before she could make a reply.

 

“I'm going to the hospital,” she said, and she felt the weight of their startled looks on her as she returned Kalla's withering gaze in full.  She didn't give a fuck anymore – she couldn't wait for Kalla or upper management to fix this.  She would have to make sense of it herself.  Kalla's glare only intensified when she heard George's answer, but George just didn't give a fuck.  “I need to have a chat with this Eli guy.”

 

– V –

 

Eli hadn't thought he'd make it in time.  The entire time he raced towards the market, his vision replayed in his mind: he saw the butchers arguing, he saw the one throw the cleaver towards the retreating back of the other, he saw the intended target turn, he saw the cleaver sail straight past his head, and he saw where the cleaver landed: in Maggie's head.  He saw the blood, he felt his stomach knot, and he was lost in the panic and fear and dread that swallowed him whole.  His legs moved, pushing him closer to her with every stride, but it felt like the motions weren't doing any good.  It felt like he wouldn't make it.  And then he had entered the market, and then he had raced towards the meat counter, and then he had seen _her_ – and she had seen him.  The blonde from his visions, from the street, was standing not two feet from Maggie, her hand raised like she was about to brush it against Maggie's side.  He had screamed, and Maggie had turned, and the blonde had glared murder as her friend pulled her out of the way of the thrown cleaver – right when he crashed into Maggie, pushing her back and taking the blow in his shoulder instead.

 

Not much later, he found himself sitting on a sectioned-off bed in St. Vincent's ER, a nurse wrapping his shoulder with thick Kerlix.  He winced when the young nurse’s hand brushed against the wound, and she quickly mumbled an apology.  He gave her a small smile before looking back to Maggie, who was sitting in the chair beside the bed.  Her hands were clasped around one of his, her thumbs brushing along his wrist absentmindedly as she watched the nurse cut the Kerlix before taping the loose end to the rest of the bandage.  As soon as the nurse was gone, Maggie was on her feet and inspecting the wrap.  He gave her an amused, if pained, look.

 

“You’re as bad as Nate,” he said, making her smile slightly.  She ran her hand along the back of his shoulder, over where she knew the wound to be.  Her touch was feather-light, and if he hadn’t been watching her he wouldn’t have known she’d done it.  He reached up and placed his hand over hers; she jumped and looked up to find him giving her a reassuring smile.  “I’m ok, Maggie.”

 

“I know,” she said, squeezing his shoulder lightly – not enough to cause any pain, but enough to convey her meaning.  Her hand dropped and grabbed his own again.  “You’re incredibly lucky the cleaver didn’t go any deeper.  And that it just hit your shoulder.  This could’ve been so much worse, Eli.”

 

“I know,” he said.  He pulled her close with his good arm, and she bent to meet him when he went to kiss her.  He rested his head on her chest, placing his ear over her heart.  “It nearly was.”

 

“But I don’t get it!  After this afternoon you said everything would be ok – what happened at the market?  How’d you know I’d be there?” she asked, and he chuckled.

 

“Do you really have to ask?” he asked, glancing up at her.  She gave him an annoyed look, and he sighed.  “I called the office to tell you to stay put.  Patti said you’d already left and forgot your phone.  So…you didn’t leave me much choice, did you?  I almost didn’t make it.”

 

“But you did,” she said, kissing his temple.  His lips quirked in a quick smile, and she sighed as she brushed a hand over his cropped hair.  She still needed to hear it, though.  He’d alluded to his visions all day, yet he never confirmed anything.  She needed him to tell her what he’d seen.  “How’d you know to be there, Eli?”

 

Eli pulled back and gave her a look of his own, but she didn’t back down.  He didn’t want to relive those visions.  He didn’t want her to know exactly what he had seen, and he certainly didn’t want her to know that he didn’t think it was over.  He opened his mouth to give another excuse, another attempt to dodge the issue, when a voice at the entrance of the cubicle stopped him cold.  His head shot up.  Standing just a few feet from them was the blonde.

 

“That’s what I want to know,” she said, her voice frigid.  He swallowed thickly as his eyes narrowed in a glare to match her own, but he felt nowhere near as intimidating as he was trying to be.  He wasn’t sure if that was because he was shirtless in an ER, his shoulder wrapped in a thick bandage, or because he knew – at least to an extent – just what this blonde was capable of.  He felt it was probably a bit of both.  He swallowed thickly as he felt Maggie’s hand squeeze his good arm.

 

“Who are you?” he asked, his voice thick with dread and something akin to fear.  He was refusing to call it that, of course.  He was refusing to admit this girl – this child – actually terrified him.  She was refusing to pay him any mind.  She turned instead to look at Maggie, her eyes still narrow and icy.  He was struck by the sudden thought that she would be a very pretty girl, if she’d just smile a little and not look so hostile.

 

“Are you M. Dekker?” she asked, and Maggie tensed at the unexpected question.  She nodded slowly, her confusion obvious.

 

“Um…yes,” she said, though it sounded more like a question, as if the unease caused by the intense stare made her doubt her own identity.  The girl walked over to her, and Eli tensed as she brushed her hand along Maggie’s arm.  He was ready to cry out, to scream at her in protest when he realized the glow from his visions was absent.  The foreheads of all three furrowed further, albeit for different reasons: panic, frustration, fear – all laced with a healthy dose of confusion.  The girl’s eyes shot up to meet Maggie’s, the glare even colder than before, and Maggie took an instinctive step back.  The girl’s gaze was steady as she spoke, not once wavering from her own.

 

“I need to talk to your friend here.  Privately,” she said.  Her tone left no room for debate, though Maggie wasn’t entirely sure she’d even want to protest in the first place.  She turned towards Eli, who was still glaring at the blonde.  He glanced at her, sensing her hesitance, and nodded curtly.  She gave him a quick hug and kissed his cheek.

 

“I’ll be in the waiting room,” she said.  She grabbed his phone from his pocket and waved it half-heartedly.  “I’m going to call Nate and let him know what’s going on.”

 

“Maggie!  He doesn’t have to know I’m in the hospital again, does he?” he asked, breaking his glare to grimace at the thought of the lecture his brother would be sure to give him as soon as he rushed over here.  Maggie grinned and patted his good shoulder.

 

“Stop being such a baby, Eli,” she said.  She gave a final glance to the blonde, a part of her still nervous to leave her alone with Eli, before she left the cubicle.  They heard the door to the waiting room open and close a moment later,  and Eli looked back to the girl.

 

“Who are you?” he asked again, cutting to the quick, and she quirked a brow at him.  She rolled her eyes and folded her arms over her chest.  He watched as she turned away, and he could only assume she was glaring holes through the curtain dividing his cubicle from the empty one next door.

 

“George Lass, grim reaper – but you already knew that, didn’t you?  I hope you’re ready for the shit storm on its way.  The gravelings are so gonna be after your ass for all the trouble you’re causing,” she said, and his eyebrows soared.  At his silence, she turned her head to look over her shoulder at him.  Her own look was incredulous at the shock on his face.  “Oh, come on.  You can’t tell me you expected to get away with cheating Death like this.  The gravelings always raise hell when they figure out what causes a hiccup.”

 

“The…the what?” he asked, and then he shook his head.  He held up a hand.  “Wait, back up.  Sorry.  You’re a grim reaper?”

 

George Lass was silent for a moment, her look calculating as she studied him.  After a long pause, she finally asked, “You really didn’t know I was a reaper, did you?”

 

“No,” he said.  He wanted to add that that was crazy, that grim reapers didn’t really exist, but he felt he had no leg to stand on in that argument.  After all, prophets weren’t really supposed to exist anymore either, were they?  So he left the statement as it was, abrupt and lacking.  George whirled around, stomping her foot to halt her turn and vent some of her annoyance.

 

“Bullshit!” she snapped.  Her fists clenched at her sides, and he shook his head.  “How the fuck did you know to keep Dekker away from me, then?!”

 

“I…” he started, but his voice caught in his throat.  How was he supposed to explain it?  He was given visions of possible futures, all of which contained Maggie dying after this girl touched her?  He had only known George was involved – he hadn’t known how.  He almost wished he still didn’t.

 

She arched a brow at him, showing her impatience and frustration.  She wasn’t the only one, he couldn’t help but think.  He sighed and hung his head, studying the floor tiles with an attention they really didn’t deserve.  Well, as long as she was being honest…

 

“Eli Stone.  I’m a prophet,” he said.  If he had looked up he would have seen a look of cynical disbelief on George’s face, but he kept his eyes locked on the floor.  “At least that’s what we’ve been calling it.  I have a brain aneurysm, and it causes me to see things.  I have these visions, and they guide me on how to help people.  I’m a lawyer, so they’re usually involved with cases I’m supposed to take.”

 

“You’re nuts,” George said, and he looked up to find she was giving him a look that mirrored her words in all their harsh bluntness.  “You really expect me to think you can see the future?”

 

“It’s not always the future.  Sometimes it’s events, but usually it’s a big song and dance number with the people involved.  I guess it’s kind of hard to explain without sounding crazy,” he said.  He reached up to scratch the back of his neck, and George snorted and gave him a look that clearly said ‘You think?’.  He rolled his eyes and nodded at her.  “And don’t call me nuts – you’re the one saying you’re a grim reaper.  Is prophet really that hard to believe, given that?”

 

“Yes,” George said, nodding.  Her fists tightened ever so slightly, and he sighed.  “So, what?  You’re telling me you had a ‘vision’ that told you to keep Dekker away from me?”

 

“Three, actually, and not you per se,” he said.  Her brow lifted just a bit higher, and he sighed and drug his hands along his face.  “I had three visions of her dying, and the only constant was that you were there in each one.  You touched her, there was this strange glow, and then something would happen that would killed her.  The something kept changing every time I saved her.”

 

“What the hell did you expect?” George asked, snorting.  He peeked out above his fingers, his look dubious.  She pushed out an exasperated breath.  When she spoke again her voice was patient, as if she was dealing with a particularly obtuse child.  “Her number is up, Eli.  Death is ready for her.  Do you really think it will stop coming for her just because _you_ say no?”

 

“I won’t let Maggie die.  I can’t,” he said, his voice firm, and her brown eyes narrowed as they seemed to glass over with a layer of fresh ice.

 

“That’s not up to you,” she said, but she wasn’t the only one who could be stubborn.

 

“I get my visions to help people.  Why would I see her die if I wasn’t supposed to save her?” he asked.  He felt like he had made this argument before, to Frank.

 

“Not this time,” George said, shaking her head.  Eli’s gut twisted, his mind again going back to Frank.

 

_“But think about the song:_ don't fear the reaper _.  What if God's telling you this is going to happen, but it will all be ok in the end?”_

 

_“What if you can't stop this?  What if you're not supposed to?”_

 

His eyes clamped shut as Frank’s voice echoed in his mind.  He didn’t care what either of them said – he couldn’t lose Maggie, damn it!  He couldn’t just let her die!

 

“It’s Dekker’s time, Eli.  You have to let her go,” he looked up as George’s voice broke through his thoughts.  She had been saying something, probably trying to tell him why he had to let Maggie die, but he didn’t really care.  He wasn’t going to let her take Maggie.

 

“No,” he said, voice thick.  “I can’t accept that.”

 

“You have to,” George said, and when he opened his mouth to protest again she raised a hand.  “Stop!  Damn it, Eli, there’s no way around this – believe me, I’ve tried!  You have no choice but to let her die!”

 

He recalled what George had done when she’d entered the cubicle, remembering that nothing seemed to happen when she had touched Maggie’s arm.  His mind latched onto that last strand of hope, clinging desperately to it as he shook his head.

 

“You’re hand didn’t glow when you touched Maggie,” he said, and she stopped as confusion stole some of her gusto.

 

“What the fuck are you talking about?” she asked, and he nodded at her hand with an icy look.

 

“In my visions, when you touched Maggie your hand would glow, and then she would die.  When you came in here and touched her arm, your hand didn’t glow.  So she’s safe now,” he said.  He smirked at her, a smug sense of victory settling in – a smug sense of victory that was immediately stolen when she rolled her eyes at his reasoning.

 

“That’s soul-popping,” she said.  “That glow is the person’s soul leaving their body.  If we do our jobs right we get the soul before the person dies, so they don’t feel whatever kills them.”

 

“Well, you’re ‘soul-popping’ didn’t work, so Maggie won’t die,” he said, nodding in a way that made her feel he was trying to persuade her to agree with him.  He probably was, and she snorted at the gesture and the thought.

 

“You’re wrong,” she said, and his jaw clenched as he bit out a scathing ‘ _how?_ ’.  She felt like smirking at him, but she didn’t feel like making the effort.  “Like I said: if we do our jobs right we get the soul before the person dies.  Someone can die and still have their soul inside.  And just so you know, I could have taken her soul if I wanted to.  The souls just pop easier when the person’s got an appointment, but you can yank it out if it’s not their time.  You should ask Roxy about it.”

 

“Roxy?” he asked, thrown by the name, and she waved him off.

 

“Never mind,” she said.  “Look, you’re what we call a hiccup.  They’re rare, but they do happen.  When something happens to stop someone’s appointment – to hiccup the reap – the appointment is rescheduled.  Because of you Dekker’s been rescheduled twice now, and it’s only a matter of time before upper management tells us they’ve rescheduled her again.  The only reason her soul didn’t automatically pop out when I touched her is because she hasn’t been rescheduled again yet.”

 

“You can’t have her,” Eli said, and she groaned as her head flopped back and rolled to the side.  She felt like she was arguing with a two-year-old.

 

“Jesus, how dense are you?!  Have you even been listening?” she asked, snapping her head back to level him with a fierce stare.  “You.  Can’t.  Stop.  This!”

 

“Well, I have to try!” he shouted, raising his voice more than he meant to.  He half-expected a nurse or an orderly or someone to pop in and see what the yelling was about, but no one came.  The background noises of the hospital carried on, beeping machines and various voices and coughs and groans and the scritch-scratching of pens on charts.  The world carried on around them while his fell apart.

 

It didn’t seem fair.

 

“You…” George started, stopping as she groaned again.  She squeezed her eyes shut and shook her head, taking a few deep breaths to try and calm herself.  “Why don’t you get it?  You can’t fuck with fate, Eli!”

 

“I’m not.  I’m just trying to keep Maggie alive,” he said, his voice quiet and steady.  A spark of rage flashed in her eyes.

 

“You can’t.  It’s her time to die, and she’s going to,” she said, matching his tone as the rage seemed to flow out of her.  Eli hesitated, confused by her sudden change in demeanor.  “Eli, do you have any idea what happens to a soul if it’s left in the body past its time?  If a person’s allowed to keep living when they shouldn’t be?”

 

“No,” he said, and she looked down as her fists again clenched at her sides.  In her mind, she was back at her first reap, sitting in those dark woods with that little girl after the train wreck.  She heard Rube’s voice in her mind, angry as he tried to make her understand why she couldn’t bend the rules just because it didn’t seem fair – as he tried to make her understand that it never was and she just had to do her job anyway.  Her voice was thick when she spoke again, dripping with anger and loathing as it came out.  Eli couldn’t have known the loathing was directed at Death or God or whoever made the monumentally fucked-up rules she had to follow, that the loathing was directed at herself for having accepted she had no choice because she knew what would happen otherwise.  He just heard the repugnance and figured it was intended for him and all the trouble he was causing.

 

“It rots,” she finally said, swallowing thickly after she said the word.  “It says in its body and it _rots_.  Do you really want that for Dek…for Maggie, Eli?”

 

Eli didn’t answer, and she looked up to see a dark look on his face.  He was once again staring at the tiles lining the floor, but she knew they were the last thing on his mind.  She paused as she studied his face, recognizing the look there from so many others.  Guilt slammed into her like a freight train.  She would have thought she’d be immune to it after all these years, and for the most part she was.  Still, every now and then it would creep up on her.  She’d see that look, and she’d feel like shit because she knew she was the one to cause it.  She wasn’t the one to put the name on the list, but she was the one who made sure it was crossed off.

 

“You love her,” she said, and it wasn’t really a question.  She knew from that look, and suddenly she understood why he was fighting this so hard.  Well, duh.  Of course he would, if she was reaping the woman he loved.

 

“Yes,” he finally said, so quietly she barely heard him.  His voice was strong, even in its silence, leaving no question about just how much.

 

“I’m sorry,” she said.  It seemed weak in comparison, but she didn’t know what else to say.  She knew the rules, knew the consequences – she knew exactly why Maggie Dekker had to die, why she had to make sure this guy didn’t fuck it up again.  “I am sorry, Eli, but…if you really do love her, you have to let her go.  You don’t want that to happen to her.  You don’t want her soul to…”

 

Her voice trailed off.  She didn’t need to say it again.  Eli’s eyes closed, and suddenly George felt very uncomfortable standing there.  The cubicle was too small and his grief was too large.  She felt like a novice reaper again, too easily overcome by the enormity of her job and the consequences it had on those left behind.  She had numbed herself to that feeling over the years, even going so far as being able to laugh at the people whose souls she took with a good game of High Risk Factor.  She had almost forgotten how much this feeling, this helplessness, could hurt, which reminded her why she had ignored it so long in the first place.

 

She really was sorry – not that it meant anything now.

 

Eli swallowed and took a few deep breaths, trying to wrap his mind around what George had told him.  George Lass, grim reaper.  That in itself still seemed absurd, but – given what he knew, what he was – it didn’t seem like such a stretch.  It explained why she was in all three of his visions, why she touched Maggie before her death in all three.  He figured that friend of hers, wherever he was, was a reaper, too.  A passing thought wondered just how many grim reapers there really were, but it wasn’t pressing enough to hold on to.  He had bigger things to worry about now.

 

Things like the lawyer in the waiting room.  Things like how she was supposed to die, and he was supposed to just accept it.  Things like that nagging feeling in his gut, that feeling that had taken residence there since he first heard the opening bars of “Don’t Fear The Reaper” in his mind – that feeling that told him he couldn’t stop this and he knew it.  It wasn’t fair, it wasn’t right, and it hurt like hell…but he had no choice.  If what George was telling him was right – and what reason did she have to lie to him? – Maggie’s soul, if left in her body, would rot.  He didn’t know exactly what that meant, but just from the sound of it he could figure it wasn’t good.  He couldn’t put Maggie through that just because he didn’t want to let her go.  He couldn’t be selfish, no matter how much he wanted to be.

 

But it wasn’t fair, damn it!  She was Maggie!  How could God be taking her from him now?  After how long it had taken them to finally get together, how could He take her now?  After sending him that damn vision of the plane crash to save her, the one that finally brought her back to him (and had Matt ribbing him for weeks because of his missed elopement in Maui)?  After sending him that damn vision of the Live Brave rally – how could she be there, with their baby, if she died now?

 

He heard a whining, groaning noise and, with a start, realized it was coming from him.  The heels of his palms were pressing into his eyes, and he was rocking back and forth.  He hadn’t realized any of this as he lost himself in his thoughts, but they became apparent as he resurfaced – as apparent as the crushing sense of defeat weighing down on him.

 

George Lass, grim reaper, was right: he had no choice.  He had to let go.  Of Maggie.  Of their future.  Of their little girl.

 

His gut twisted and lurched.  What had he done wrong, exactly?  Was this some sort of punishment?  Was he really destined to be on his own, the lone prophet of San Francisco?  Taylor, Grace, Maggie…Maggie.  God…

 

“Can I at least say goodbye to her?” he heard himself bite out, and his hands fell to his sides as he looked up at George.  They gripped the edge of the bed he sat on so tightly his knuckles blanched.  Her face had softened, the glare gone.  She almost looked as torn as he was, but somehow that didn’t comfort him.  She looked away, shuffling from foot to foot as her face hardened again.  He could see her distancing herself from the issue, trying to become impassive again.

 

He guessed if Maggie was just another faceless person, if he wasn’t so close to her victim and there were no repercussions for what she had to do, reaping Maggie’s soul would be easier.  Maybe disconnecting yourself from the circumstances, hardening yourself against people, was the only way to be a grim reaper.  He didn’t know, but by this point he honestly didn’t care.  He understood that she wasn’t the one who had decided Maggie was supposed to die – or at least he figured she wasn’t – but that didn’t change the fact that she was the one in charge of overseeing Maggie’s passing.  She was the face he could attach to this mess he found himself in, so he had no problem blaming her.  Wanting to hate her.  She was the one taking Maggie from him.

 

“I don’t know,” she finally said.  She glanced back at him before looking back to the tiny gap in the curtains.  “Do you really think that’d be a good idea?”

 

“What do you mean?” he asked, his voice bitter.

 

“You’re going to tell her goodbye.  Because she’s going to die.  Does she know about your…visions?” she asked, and he nodded.  “Does she know you’ve seen her die?”

 

“She knows I’ve seen something bad happening to her.  I haven’t exactly been able to tell her I’ve seen her hit by a car, shot, and stabbed, no,” he snipped, and she rolled her eyes.

 

“You’d only scare her.  You’re not supposed to know when you’re going to die for a reason, Eli,” she said, and he slammed a fist against the bed.

 

“Then why the hell did I get three visions about it?!” he asked, his voice raising with his frustration.

 

“I don’t know!” she shouted back, and he looked away again.  He figured he should apologize.  He really didn’t want to.  “You shouldn’t say anything to her.  Just go on as normal.  If…if you tell her, you’ll only scare her.  It’s better she doesn’t know, especially since I don’t even know when she’s going to be rescheduled.”

 

“So any time now she’s going to be gone forever and I can’t even tell her goodbye?”  he snapped, and she rolled her eyes.

 

“Would you normally, if you had no vision warning you of all this?  Besides, maybe you’ll get lucky and she’ll end up being my final reap,” she said, and at his look she shrugged.  “When a reaper gets their final reap their last soul takes their place as a reaper.  I doubt that would happen, though.  I haven’t been doing this that long, so I know my time can’t be up yet.”

 

“That still leaves me not being able to say goodbye,” he said, and she sighed as she folded her arms across her chest again.

 

“You won’t have to,” a voice at the entrance of the cubicle said, and their heads whipped around to find a brown-haired woman standing by the curtain.  Eli’s eyes widened as George’s narrowed in confusion.

 

“Who the hell are you?” George asked, but Eli already knew.  She was the Fiduciary.

 

“Upper management,” the Fiduciary said without missing a beat.  Eli’s eyebrows soared in confusion, even as George’s glare narrowed.  The Fiduciary smiled and shrugged.  “Well, at least a part of it.  It’s very nice to meet you, Georgia Lass.  I’ve heard a lot about you.”

 

“You…what?” George asked, her face scrunching.  “What the fuck is going on?”

 

“Please, Georgia.  Language,” the Fiduciary said, frowning at her.  George scowled.

 

“What do you mean?” Eli asked, drawing the Fiduciary’s attention back to him.  Her smile warmed as she looked his way.

 

“Upper management.  I’m part of a division above Georgia’s, so –” she started, but he shook his head.

 

“No, no, not that.  You said I won’t have to say goodbye to Maggie.  What did you mean by that?” Eli asked, and the Fiduciary chuckled.

 

“Patience, please,” she said.  She looked at George.  “Eli was right, George.  We did send him the visions so he could save Maggie.”

 

“What the fuck?!” George cried, and the Fiduciary gave her another pointed look.  George rolled her eyes.  “Fuck off!  Explain, ‘cause I’m sick and tired of being jerked around in this fucked up city of yours!”

 

“There’s no need for –” the Fiduciary started to say, but George took a step forward and shook her head.

 

“No, there is!  Mason and I get called down here, a thirteen-hour car drive from home, because _you_ fucked up and needed help.  Because _your_ offices didn’t replace your reapers when you called two up.  And then you keep fucking up, making me miss this reap three times in a row, and now you’re telling me she wasn’t even supposed to be on the list in the first place?  What the hell?!  And don’t you dare tell me there’s no reason to be pissed – I think I’m pretty fucking justified being pissed!” George shouted.  The Fiduciary watched her for a moment after she’d stopped, a terse look on her face as George panted out a few uneven breaths.  Eli blinked, looking at her with nervous eyes, as the Fiduciary folded her hands before her.

 

“Are you quite finished, Georgia?” she asked.  George looked thoughtful for a minute before she nodded.

 

“No, but I’m starting to think there’s no point in yelling about it,” she said, and the Fiduciary smiled.

 

“You’re right.  Now, as I said: Eli was supposed to save Maggie.  And as you pointed out, our ‘offices’ have been a bit sloppy lately.  We’ve been trying to sort everything out, but in the middle of all this quite a few names were slipped onto the lists that weren’t supposed to be there.  Maggie was one of them.  And while we tried to catch these mistakes and fix them, we needed someone to save the slip-ups,” the Fiduciary said.  George’s glare tightened.

 

“That makes no sense,” she said.  “Why not just tell Kalla Dekker wasn’t supposed to be reaped?”

 

“Because telling Kalla wouldn’t be reigning in the gravelings, would it?  Even if you knew not to reap her, the gravelings would still go after her.  And since we wouldn’t want her to be a soul trapped in a body, we kept you as her reaper just in case.  We were fairly sure Eli wouldn’t let her die, though,” the Fiduciary explained.  George shook her head.

 

“Well why not tell us that in the first place?!  Why make me think I just had a hiccupping asshole on my case?!” she asked, and the Fiduciary shrugged.

 

“Clerical errors,” she said simply.  “They’ve been quite problematic as of late.”

 

“Your ‘clerical errors’ almost killed Maggie,” Eli said sharply, and the Fiduciary gave him an apologetic look.

 

“I know, and I’m sorry,” she said.

 

“Is she safe now?” he asked, and she nodded.

 

“Her death has been indefinitely postponed,” she said, and George snorted as she turned away.  She crossed her arms over her chest, sulking, but Eli ignored her.

 

“How long?” he pressed, and the Fiduciary tipped her head.

 

“Long enough,” she said, and a flash of fury crossed Eli’s eyes.

 

“How long?” he asked again, emphasizing each word, and she gave him a kind smile.  He didn’t really care.  He didn’t want her sympathy or compassion.  He just wanted to know Maggie was going to be ok.

 

“That’s not for you to know, Eli.  Rest assured that for now Maggie will be fine and you have time,” she said, “but that – like every other living person – one day she will die.  I can’t tell you when, but know that one day it will happen.  For now, you have time.”

 

“So does that mean my job’s over?  Mason and I can go home now?” they turned to look at George, who was glaring stubbornly at the heart monitor.

 

“Yes, if you want,” the Fiduciary said, and George nodded.

 

“And can I tell Kalla that?  And that this whole mess wasn’t my fault?” she continued, and the Fiduciary laughed.

 

“Yes, you can,” she said.  George rolled her eyes and moved past her, pausing at the curtain.  She glanced over her shoulder at Eli.

 

“Sorry,” she pushed out, and Eli nodded at her.  “Good luck with everything.”

 

“You, too,” he said, and she nodded before leaving the room.  The Fiduciary smiled at him.

 

“Until we meet again, Eli,” she said, and with a final nod from him she followed George out of the cubicle.  He heard the waiting room door open again, and a moment later Maggie was pushing back the curtain.  She smiled brightly at him.

 

“You’re all ready to go,” she said.  “Nate’s going to meet us back at the apartment.  He just has to pick Ben up from school first.”

 

He grabbed her hand and pulled her close, hugging her tight.  He buried his face in her neck, breathing deeply before placing a kiss against her skin.

 

“Are you ok, Eli?  What did that girl want?” she asked, and he shook his head and laughed lightly.  He pulled back and smiled at her, cupping his hand against her cheek.  He brushed his thumb under a confused eye, his smile growing as he reflected on the Fiduciary’s words.

 

“I’m fine.  You’re fine.  Everything’s going to be ok now,” he said.  He kissed her, lingering a bit longer than he normally would have.  “You ready to go home?”

 

“Get your shirt on so we can get outta here,” she said.  She kissed his cheek, and he chuckled as he grabbed his white oxford from the pillow beside him.

 

“Yes, ma’am,” he joked, and she swatted his good arm before sitting back in the chair by his bed.  He glanced at her as he buttoned his shirt up, relief settling over him.  It was the first time in three days he had felt truly at ease, and he couldn’t be happier for it.  Maggie was ok, and she would be ok.  _They_ would be ok.  He finished buttoning his shirt and hopped down before helping her up.  He kissed her one more time before grinning at her.

 

“C’mon, let’s go.”

 

– V –

 

George’s duffle bag made a satisfying, dull _thwunk_ as it fell into the back of the Mustang.  It landed next to Mason’s ratty-looking backpack, which had been stashed on the floor behind the passenger seat.  Mason occupied that seat, his legs bunched up against his chest as he tapped out a random beat on his knees.  His head bobbed with the song in his head, or maybe, George thought, it was just nervous energy.  He was as eager to blow this popsicle stand as she was.  To say their experience in the new locale had been a good one would be a gross overstatement: the run-around with her reap had soured the entire experience for George, and George’s bad mood had left a bad taste in Mason’s mouth.  George’s bad mood, Kalla, and whatever had pissed him off before they left, that is.

 

Going from all that, George wasn’t surprised they both couldn’t wait to get out of town.

 

“Do you got everything?” she asked, and Mason twisted his head around to look at her, upside-down, from the front seat.  He gave her a goofy grin, and – despite her better judgment – she returned the gesture in full.  (It was too easy to smile around Mason now, almost like second nature.  Considering how they started, she didn’t know if that should surprise her or just make her glad.)

 

“Yep,” he said, popping the ‘P’.  “Can we just get the hell outta Dodge now, George?  I’m fucking sick of this bloody city.”

 

She laughed as she chucked him the map.  He became a flailing mass of limbs as he tried to catch it, ultimately failing as it slipped past his hands, landed in his lap, and was jostled to the floor.  He shot her a sheepish grin before bending over to pick it up, and she laughed all the harder.

 

“God, Mason.  Uncoordinated much?” she asked as she opened the driver’s side door.  She sat down, slammed the door behind her, and turned the key.  The engine roared to life, and she glanced around to make sure it was safe to back out.  Her eyes landed on the entrance to the apartment complex, where she saw Kalla grinning and waving at them.  She offered a tight-lipped smile in return and nodded at her before she pulled the car out and headed off down the street.

 

Things had gone fairly well with Kalla when she’d returned to the apartment the night before.  They had sat around the living room, enjoyed a dinner of bad Chinese takeout, and George had explained about upper management’s fuck-ups.  Kalla had listened patiently, and once George had said all she could on the matter Kalla had risen from her seat, crossed the room to her side, and – much to George’s horror – hugged her.  She then apologized, telling her she never should have questioned her.  Rube trusted her, so she should have, too.  George only nodded as she asked if she could forgive her, despite Mason’s off-color comment about how she had a snowball’s chance in hell of that ever happening.  They had stayed the night, and now – freshly rested and stocked with road trip snacks from the quickie mart down the street – they were finally leaving.

 

They left on an ok note, but that didn’t mean George had any interest in coming back for a visit any time soon.

 

“So you really missed Rube _that_ much, huh?” George asked once they were clear of the building.  She smirked at Mason as he gave her a wounded look.

 

“Georgie, _please!_   I missed _Kiffany!_ ” he said, the textbook image of seriousness.  George pulled to a stop at a light as she laughed, shaking her head as a wide grin curled her lips.

 

“Bullshit!  You have to mean _Daisy!_ ” she said, and just like that Mason’s mood flipped as a scowl darkened his face.  He sank back in the seat, arms folding stubbornly over his chest.

 

“Fuck off,” he bit out, making her pause.  She turned her focus back on the road as the light changed, and after another minute she decided she wasn’t going to put up with his brooding for the rest of the thirteen-hour car trip home.  She’d had a crappy ‘vacation’.  Now that things were sorted, looking up, and they were headed home, she didn’t want to spend any more time pissed – at least for now.  So, with that in mind, she decided there was no better time than the present to strong-arm some answers from him.

 

“You never did say what happened with her,” she said, cutting straight to the point.  He gave her a sour look.

 

“Does it even matter, George?” he asked, and she sighed.  She nodded, her grip on the steering wheel tightening just a bit.  His eyes darted to her blanching knuckles, and for a moment he felt guilty.  He wished he hadn’t made that on-a-whim decision to leave his flask behind in Seattle.  He could really use the drink.

 

“I told you, Mason.  You’re my friend, and this shit with Daisy is making you weird.  I want my pal to stop moping over whatever the hell happened and come back, so what the fuck happened?” she asked.  He slunk lower in his seat, turning his head to watch the city passing them by over the lip of the door.

 

“I finally realized Daisy’s more set in her ways than I am, and I’m fucking sick of it,” he said after a few stoplights had passed.  She glanced at him before turning her eyes back to the road.  “I’d do anything for her, Georgie.  I fucking killed a man for her.  And she just don’t care.  She just don’t fucking care, and I’m so fucking sick of it.”

 

“So what brought this bit of enlightenment on?” she asked, and again they lapsed into silence.  She didn’t entirely mind.  At least he was finally talking, and she knew from past experience they had to do this at his own pace.  It might take them the rest of the trip home, but by the end she knew she’d have the full story.

 

“You remember when I went to see Daisy at that reap three days before we left?” he asked, and she nodded.  He had come home spectacularly soused, and for him that was saying something, and had continued in his self-destructive ways long into the night.  He hadn’t given a reason for his behavior or subsequent ill mood, and she hadn’t asked as she had sat with him the next day while he recovered.  After her morning reap, she had come home and they had watched old M*A*S*H episodes while he alternated between moaning about how shitty he felt and forcing his guts out into a bin by the couch.  And then the night and his reap’s E.T.D. rolled around, and she had kicked him out with instructions to not return until he had popped his soul.

 

He had returned half an hour later, completely sober, and they hadn’t spoken of the day since.  He had, however, festered in this black mood.

 

“Yeah, I remember,” she said, and he sighed.  He brought a hand up and scrubbed at his face.

 

“So…I met Daisy’s latest love interest,” he said, and the puzzle pieces started to click into place for George.  Ah.  Hank.  “He’s as big a cock-sucker as the rest of ‘em.  Maybe more.”

 

He was silent again, and she let him brood as she drove out of the city.

 

“Thing is, I’m a fuck-up, yeah?  I know I am, but I’m still a nice guy.  Right?  I’m a nice guy – when I want to be,” he finally said, and she smiled a little at that.  “Daisy’s never going to realize it, or at least acknowledge it.  She’ll just keep going after these wankers, so what’s the point?  What’s the fucking point, George?”

 

“God, Mason,” she said once he was finished, and he turned his head to quirk a brow at her.  She smiled, the gesture sympathetic.  “It’s about fucking time you realized it.  That’s exactly why you deserve better than Daisy, Daisy Adair.”

 

“I’m sorry, Georgie,” he said, giving her a weak smile.  “I’ve been a real ass this past week, haven’t I?”

 

“Only a little,” she quipped.  She glanced at him, a genuine smile on her face.  He grinned back at her.

 

“We ok?” he asked, and she nodded.

 

“We’re always ok, Mason,” she said.  She reached over to pat his hand, and he settled back in his seat as a large, relieved grin split his face.  He pushed out a breath and looked back to the passing scenery.

 

“Good,” he said.  “I’m glad.  Dunno what I’d do without you, Georgie.”

 

“Endure Rube’s wrath a hell of a lot more?” she joked, and he laughed.  They slipped back into an easy silence, and he reached over to fiddle with the radio.  She drove on as he began singing with an old rock station, and soon they were back into their easy banter.  As she watched him, she noticed that – for the first time in a week – he looked truly at ease.  He was Mason again, and the thought made her smile.  Yeah, she thought, they were gonna be ok.

 

– V –

 

“And that’s pretty much it,” Eli said, collapsing back onto the couch.  Maggie sat up straight next to him, her hands clasped in her lap and her gaze locked on them.  He glanced at her, wondering exactly how she was going to react to his story.  He had just finished telling her what had really been going on the past two days, and now he was waiting for…something.  For her to yell at him, for her to fall apart, for her to…do something.  Her silence was making him nervous, and his nerves were already frazzled from the past couple of days.  “I’m sorry, Maggie.  I should have told you sooner, but…I had to watch you _die_.  Three times.  And I just couldn’t…if you knew…I…”

 

He trailed off, at a loss for just how exactly to explain it.  Somehow, telling her made it seem more real.  If she knew she was going to die, then she would have.  He knew it was illogical, but that was how it was.  Put simply, he had been scared.  Surely she could understand that?

 

She reached over, placing a hand over his and squeezing.  He glanced up to find her smiling tensely at him.

 

“You should have told me,” she said.  She looked at him, her gaze catching his own and refusing to let go.  “I love you, Eli.  All of you, visions included.  And I want to help you with them.”

 

He started to protest, to tell her it wasn’t her burden to bear or that she really didn’t have to, but she shook her head and placed a finger against his lips.

 

“You can’t keep it all inside, Eli.  You have to tell me, even if you think it’ll scare me.  I’ve watched you struggle through this calling the past year alone, Eli.  When things get hard you push people away because you don’t think they can handle it, but I’ve got news for you.  You can’t handle it all alone, either, and you shouldn’t have to.  You have Nate and Frank, and you’ve always had me.  I’m not going anywhere, Eli, so let me in.  Do me a favor and remember that next time, ok?” she asked.  He sat, stunned into silence, as his head nodded.  She smiled, moving her hand to cup his cheek, and he chuckled lightly.  She amazed him, every time.  He didn’t think he’d ever get used to her capacity for putting up with him, though he didn’t know if he ever wanted to.  He pulled her against him and laid back on the sofa.  She snuggled against him, and he breathed out a sigh.

 

“Just promise me ‘next time’ won’t be a repeat of this.  I don’t want to lose you yet, Maggie,” he finally said, and she laughed.

 

“You won’t.  It’s taken us too long to get here for me to leave now,” she said, and he smiled.  Hadn’t that been his argument this whole time?  He gave her a gentle squeeze and kissed the top of her head.

 

“Thank you, Maggie.  I’m sorry.  I love you,” he said, and she hummed.

 

“Just don’t do it again,” she said, kissing his chest.  “I love you, too, Eli.”

 

They lapsed into a comfortable silence, and he held her until she fell asleep.  He then carried her into the bedroom, though it took him a while before he could join her in sleep.  He just laid there, watching her and thanking God she was still here beside him.  He finally fell asleep hours later, and when he awoke the next morning she was still there beside him.

 

Alive.  Safe.

 

Just like she was always meant to be.

 

Just like she always would be.

 

– V –

 

George took a sip from her coffee as a way of signaling her recounting done, and Rube let out a low whistle as she placed the cup back on the table.  They sat around their usual table in Der Waffle Haus, Mason and Roxy on either side of her and Daisy sitting next to Rube on the other half of the booth.  Rube had already handed out the post-its, and George and Mason had filled the rest of them in on what had transpired in San Francisco while they ate.  Of course, this was after Mason had hugged Kiffany upon entering the restaurant (to which she had shaken him off and told him to get his act together).

 

“Upper management really had to step in?” he asked, and Roxy snorted.

 

“That city really needs to get its shit together,” she said, and George smirked at her.

 

“Yeah,” she said.  “The hiccup was a professional one, apparently, and they used their prophet to save Dekker every time her reap was rescheduled.”

 

“I blew a prophet once,” Daisy said absently, picking at her fruit bowl.  “He had a vision right when he –”

 

“So I guess I didn’t even need to go to San Francisco anyway,” George said, cutting her off before she could get any more graphic.  “Since my reap wasn’t even supposed to be reaped.”

 

“Did Kalla ever find her new reapers?” Rube asked, and Mason nodded.

 

“The lady from upper management brought ‘em with her,” he said after swallowing a bit of scrambled egg.  “Apparently they were just really, _really_ lost – but they were haunting places they were around a lot when they were alive.  If you ask me, I’d say that right there shows why we’re better reapers than Kalla and her merry bunch.  Those would’ve been the first places checked if it were me.  Plus, me and Georgie-girl did a fantastic job while there, despite their fucking with her reap.  I’d say we’re better reapers, wouldn’t you, Rube?”

 

Rube gave him a dark look.  Mason just grinned.

 

“Shut the fuck up, Mason,” George said with a sigh.  She took another sip of her coffee.  “I’m just glad to be home.  Mason does have a point, though, Rube.  You are a _much_ better boss than Kalla.”

 

Rube smirked at her as he took a drink from his own coffee.

 

“Missed you, too, Peanut,” he said.  Daisy sighed as she picked a grape out of her salad.

 

“San Francisco sounds just dreadful,” she said.  “I don’t know if I’d mind the city, but I don’t know about the head reaper.”

 

“Yeah,” Roxy said, smirking at Rube over her own mug, “I guess we should keep him, shouldn’t we?”

 

Rube rolled his eyes as his reapers laughed.  The conversation settled down, amiable chatter rolling between the friends as they ate their breakfasts.  George was in the middle of discussing what had been going on while she was out of town with Roxy when Daisy placed her fork down and stood.  She grabbed her coat and slipped it on, smiling blithely at the rest of them.

 

“Well, I’m off.  My soul isn’t going to reap itself.  Mason, sweetie,” she said, looking at him, “would you be a dear and accompany me downtown?”

 

Mason grinned at her before saying he’d love to, and George felt her jaw drop as her head whipped around.  Her mind flashed back to their conversation on the ride home, to all Mason had said about being tired of Daisy’s antics and…what?  Not even a day later and he was ready to be her lapdog again?  Mason glanced at her, catching her shocked look, and he shrugged helplessly.  His smile was apologetic, and she rolled her eyes as she turned back to Roxy.  Roxy gave her a curious look, but when she rolled her eyes again the cop let it drop.  She continued with her story as they heard Mason and Daisy leave, and George sighed.  Once an addict, always an addict, she supposed.  She turned back into Roxy, smiling and nodding at all the appropriate places, but a part of her mind kept going back to Mason.  Mason and Daisy.  Mason and his hypocrisy.  Mason and his…she sighed.

 

‘Mason, Mason, Mason…’


End file.
